Almost every desire a poor man has is a punishable offence.

Man hardly comes in more than two varieties, wherever he is, whatever he does: workers and pimps ... they're either one or the other! ... and inventors, the worst kind of jobholder! ... they stand condemned! ... the writer who doesn't pimp along, peacefully plagiarizing, who doesn't pump out the pop stuff, he's had it! ... everybody hates him!

Lots of men are like that, their artistic leanings never go beyond a weakness for shapely thighs.

There's no such thing as intelligent vanity. It's an instinct. And you'll never find a man who is not first and foremost vain.

All that makes a lunatic are the very ordinary ideas of mankind shut up inside a man's head.

Never believe straight off in a man's unhappiness. Ask him if he can still sleep. If the answer's "yes," all's well. That is enough.