Language is a part of our organism and no less complicated than it.

Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us all without words?

Information can tell us everything. It has all the answers. But they are answers to questions we have not asked, and which doubtless don’t even arise.

History does not merely touch on language, but takes place in it.

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.

I sometimes think of what future historians will say of us. A single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers.

In the case of news, we should always wait for the sacrament of confirmation.

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.

Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies.

I am always sorry when any language is lost, because languages are the pedigrees of nations.

Every man has a right to utter what he thinks truth, and every other man has a right to knock him down for it. Martyrdom is the test.

Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.

Language is the house of being. In its home human beings dwell. Those who think and those who create with words are the guardians of this home.