It is a luxury to be understood.

I live by good soup, and not on fine language.

Speech is the mirror of the soul; as a man speaks, so is he.

I rather think the cinema will die. Look at the energy being exerted to revive it—yesterday it was color, today three dimensions. I don’t give it forty years more. Witness the decline of conversation. Only the Irish have remained incomparable conversationalists, maybe because technical progress has passed them by.

The gift of a common tongue is a priceless inheritance and it may well some day become the foundation of a common citizenship.

Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands, and goes to work.

Words pay no debts.

When action grows unprofitable, gather information; when information grows unprofitable, sleep.

Methinks the human method of expression by sound of tongue is very elementary and ought to be substituted for some ingenious invention which should be able to give vent to at least six coherent sentences at once.

My language is the common prostitute that I turn into a virgin.

It is impossible to translate the poets. Can you translate music?

Language is the archives of history.

I have often repented speaking, but never of holding my tongue.