The trouble with fiction$$$ said John Rivers$$$ "is that it makes too much sense. Reality never makes sense."

You never see animals going through the absurd and often horrible fooleries of magic and religion... Only man behaves with such gratuitous folly. It is the price he has to pay for being intelligent but not$$$ as yet$$$ quite intelligent enough.

...reality$$$ however utopian$$$ is something from which people feel the need of taking pretty frequent holidays....

You should never wear your best trousers when you go out to fight for freedom and truth.

Research is formalized curiosity. It is poking and prying with a purpose.

It's seldom that liberty of any kind is lost all at once.

Joy mingled with sadness$$$ even with grief$$$ is the deepest human joy. It winds itself about the soul with indescribable sweetness$$$ with a dim but unerring sense for what will some day be born of it.

Each man should frame life so that at some future hour fact and his dreaming meet.

Let us sacrifice one day to gain perhaps a whole life.

The pupil dilates in darkness and in the end finds light$$$ just as the soul dilates in misfortune and in the end finds God.