There are more dead people than living. And their numbers are increasing. The living are getting rarer.

Banality is a symptom of non-communication. Men hide behind their cliches.

It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question.

Like all revolutions, the surrealist revolution was a reversion, a restitution, an expression of vital and indispensable spiritual needs.

If one does not understand the usefulness of the useless and the uselessness of the useful, one cannot understand art.

Theatre is simply what cannot be expressed by any other means; a complexity of words, movements, gestures that convey a vision of the world inexpressible in any other way.

Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together.

All cats die. Socrates is dead. Therefore Socrates is a cat.

A writer never has a vacation. For a writer, life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.

It's only when I say that everything is incomprehensible that I come as close as possible to understanding the only thing it is given to us to understand.

The Arts are man's most useless ... and essential ... activity.

He was everything I’d ever wanted, and everything I hadn’t even known I needed.

We are all punished for the lives we have chosen, in one way or another.

From my very first day as an entrepreneur, I've felt the only mission worth pursuing in business is to make people's lives better.

We continue to stand united with Germany and our NATO allies in our ongoing efforts to build peace and stability in Afghanistan.

Let's give it up for the Secret Service. I don't want to be too hard on those guys. You know, because they're the only law enforcement agency that will get in trouble if a black man gets shot.

I've heard the joke a million times that "Jews in Sports" must be the thinnest book in the world. Actually, I've seen a lot of great players working at the Maccabi Games.

Complaining that a comic is drunk is like going to a titty bar and complaining because your lapdancer is a communist.

If the other person injures you, you may forget the injury; but if you injure him you will always remember.

Pale in her fading bowers the Summer stands, Like a new Niobe with claspèd hands, Silent above the flowers, her children lost, Slain by the arrows of the early Frost.

Both triumph and disaster are impostors.