Advertising is a racket, like the movies and the brokerage business. You cannot be honest without admitting that its constructive contribution to humanity is exactly minus zero.

The trade of advertising is now so near perfection that it is not easy to propose any improvement. But as every art ought to be exercised in due subordination to the public good, I cannot but propose it as a moral question to these masters of the public ear, whether they do not sometimes play too wantonly with our passions.

Advertising is legalized lying.

The modern little red riding hood, reared on singing commercials, has no objections to being eaten by the wolf.

I have discovered the most exciting, the most arduous literary form of all, the most difficult to master, the most pregnant in curious possibilities. I mean the advertisement. It is far easier to write ten passably effective Sonnets, good enough to take in the not too inquiring critic, than one effective advertisement that will take in a few thousand of the uncritical buying public.

Several years before birth, advertise for a couple of parents belonging to long-lived families.

However far your travels take you, you will never find the girl who smiles out at you from the travel brochure.

Advertising is the modern substitute for argument; its function is to make the worse appear the better.

Early to bed, early to rise, work like hell, and advertise.

Advertising is the greatest art form of the twentieth century.