As The Arteries Grow Hard, The Heart

I Know Of No Existing Nation That Deserves To Live, And I Know Of Very Few Individuals.

In The Long Run All Battles Are Lost, And So Are All Wars.

The Aim Of Poetry, It Appears, Is To Fill The Mind With Lofty Thoughts--not To Give It Joy, But To Give It A Grand And Somewhat Gaudy Sense Of Virtue. The Essay Is A Weapon Against The Degenerate Tendencies Of The Age. The Novel, Properly Conceived, Is A Means Of Uplifting The Spirit; Its Aim Is To Inspire, Not Merely To Satisfy The Low Curiosity Of Man In Man.

Economic Independence Is The Foundation Of The Only Sort Of Freedom Worth A Damn

A Man May Be A Fool And Not Know It, But Not If He Is Married.