For three hundred years the race had glazed windows. Then they shut themselves up in little air-conditioned boxes and stared at silly television pict… - Robert A. Heinlein

Yes, Boss?'
Dorcas, the last twenty or thirty years I've been a worthless, no-good parasite.'
She yawned again. 'Everybody knows that.'
Nevermind the flattery. There comes a time in every man's life when he has to stop being sensible — a time to stand up and be counted — strike a blow for liberty — smite the wicked.'
Ummm...'
So quit yawning, the time has come.'
She glanced down. 'Maybe I had better get dressed.

Art is the process of evoking pity and terror, which is not abstract at all but very human. What the self-styled modern artists are doing is a sort of unemotional pseudointellectual masturbation . . . whereas creative art is more like intercourse, in which the artist must seduce — render emotional — his audience, each time.

“How you behave toward cats here below determines your status in Heaven.”
“Really?”
“That’s straight out of the Bible; you can look it up.”