If you're alive, you can't be bored in San Francisco. If you're not alive, San Francisco will bring you to life.

The child race is fresh, eager, interested, innocent, imaginative, healthy and full of faith, where the adult race, more often than not, is stale, spiritually debauched, unimaginative, unhealthy, and without faith.

If you give to a thief he cannot steal from you, and he is no longer a thief.

Cowards are nice, they're interesting, they're gentle, they wouldn't think of shooting down people in a parade from a tower. They want to live, so they can see their kids. They're very brave.

If I have any desire at all, it is to show the brotherhood of man.

Give me something about bacteria. Give me something that won't make me feel so inferior.

Art is what is irresistible.

The bicycle is the noblest invention of mankind.

Every man is correct in asking God why he is stuck with himself, and his rotten luck.

The purpose of writing is both to keep up with life and to run ahead of it. I am little comfort to myself, although I am the only comfort I have, excepting perhaps streets, clouds, the sun, the faces and voices of kids and the aged, and similar accidents of beauty, innocence, truth and loneliness.

The bicycle is the noblest invention of mankind.

All of the sudden, he said, I feel different -- not like I ever felt before. Even when Papa died I didn't feel this way. In two days everything is changed. I'm lonely and I don't now what I'm lonely for.

Good people are good because they have come to wisdom through failure. We get very little wisdom from success.

No city invites the heart to come to life as San Francisco does. Arrival in San Francisco is an experience in living.

The order I found was the order of disorder.

In the time of your life, live-so that in that good time there shall be no ugliness or death for yourself or for any life your life touches.

There is little pride in writers. They know they are human and shall some day die and be forgotten. Knowing all this a writer is gentle and kindly where another man is severe and unkind.

But who can speak to God, or rather who can't? The question is, who can get an answer?

I have an idea that most of all he is running away from love, because it's too big and too demanding. He's running away from us -- from you, from me, from his sister, from himself, too. Who wants to be himself, who wants to be so little, and so captured and limited?

I cannot see the war as historians see it. Those clever fellows study all the facts and they see the war as a large thing, one of the biggest events in the legend of the man, something general, involving multitudes.