so here are some quotes about my looming occupation:
A judge should be an advocate for liberty . . . [My job] as a Supreme Court justice is to make sure the smallest dog can lift its leg against the largest tree.
I had a report of one court that had an individual keep coming into court dressed like a clown. Again, that pushes the dignity of the court.
I’ve been married 45 years. We’ve never considered divorce – a few times murder, maybe.
It’s hearsay, I agree, but it’s damn good hearsay, and I want to hear it.
Defendant will be pleased to discover that the highway is paved and lighted all the way to Galveston, and thanks to the efforts of this Court’s predecessor . . . the trip should be free of rustlers, hooligans, or vicious varmints of unsavory kind. Moreover, the speed limit was recently increased to seventy miles per hour on most of the road leading to Galveston, so Defendant should be able to hurtle to justice at lighting speed . . . Defendant will again be pleased to know that regular limousine service is available from Hobby Airport, even to the steps of this humble courthouse, which has got lights, indoor plummin’, ‘lectric doors, and all sorts of new stuff, almost like them big courthouses back East.
The parties are advised to chill.
Cancer is not a book. It is a cesspool, an open sewer, a pit of putrefaction, a slimy gathering of all that is rotten in the debris of human depravity. And in the center of all this waste and stench, besmearing himself with its foulest defilement, splashes, leaps, cavorts and wallows a bifurcated specimen that responds to the name of Henry Miller.
To succeed in other trades, capacity must be shown; in the law, concealment of it will do.
An ignorance so shining and conspicuous as yours – now I have it – go on a jury. That is your place.
A jury consists of twelve persons chosen to decide who has the better lawyers.
Somebody recently figured out that we have 35 million laws to enforce the Ten Commandments.
If the laws could speak for themselves, they would complain of the lawyers in the first place.
The jury, passing on the prisoner’s life,
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try.
Laws are spider webs through which the big flies pass and the little ones get caught.
The panel authorizes police to do not only what invited strangers could, but also uninvited children – in this case crawl under the car to retrieve a ball and tinker with the undercarriage. But there’s no limit to what neighborhood kids will do, given half a chance: They’ll jump the fence, crawl under the porch, pick fruit from the trees, set fire to the cat and micturate on the azaleas. To say that the police may do on your property what urchins might do spells the end of Fourth Amendment protections for most people’s curtilage.