George Bernard Shaw

The secret of being miserable is to have leisure to bother about whether you are happy or not. The cure for it is occupation.

I want to be all used up when I die.

In heaven an angel is no one in particular.

Statistics show that of those who contract the habit of eating, very few survive.

He knows nothing; and he thinks he knows everything. That points clearly to a political career.

A perpetual holiday is a good working definition of hell.

The end of the human race will be that it will eventually die of civilization.

Without a measureless and perpetual uncertainty, the drama of human life would be destroyed.

The ocean is a wilderness reaching round the globe, wilder than a Bengal jungle, and fuller of monsters, washing the very wharves of our cities and the gardens of our sea-side residences.

If man had created man, he would be ashamed of his performance.

I at least have so much to do in unraveling certain human lots, and seeing how they were woven and interwoven, that all the light I can command must be concentrated on this particular web, and not dispersed over that tempting range of relevancies called the universe.

Knowledge comes by eyes always open and working hands; and there is no knowledge that is not power.

There is one topic peremptorily forbidden to all well-bred, to all rational mortals, namely, their distempers. If you have not slept, or if you have slept, or if you have headache, or sciatica, or leprosy, or thunder-stroke, I beseech you, by all angels, to hold your peace, and not pollute the morning.

Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, the midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; invades the sacred hour of silent rest and leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast.

Hunger is never delicate; they who are seldom gorged to the full with praise may be safely fed with gross compliments, for the appetite must be satisfied before it is disgusted.

Life is the art of drawing sufficient conclusions from insufficient premises.

I answer the heroic question Death where is thy sting? It is here in my heart and mind and memories

This mournful truth is everywhere confessed, slow rises worth by poverty depressed.

There is no value in life except what you choose to place upon it and no happiness in any place except what you bring to it yourself.

A man may be so much of everything that he is nothing of anything.

In this war, a danger there is, of losing who we are.