It Is A Poor Head That Cannot

Intellectualism, Though By No Means Confined To Doubters, Is Often The Sole Piety Of The Skeptic.

The Nation Seems To Slouch Onward Into Its Uncertain Future Like Some Huge Inarticulate Beast, Too Much Attainted By Wounds And Ailments To Be Robust, But Too Strong And Resourceful To Succumb.

Whatever The Intellectual Is Too Certain Of, If He Is Healthily Playful, He Begins To Find Unsatisfactory. The Meaning Of His Intellectual Life Lies Not In The Possession Of Truth But In The Quest For New Uncertainties.

The Intellectual ... May Live For Ideas, As I Have Said, But Something Must Prevent Him From Living For One Idea, From Becoming Obsessive Or Grotesque. Although There Have Been Zealots Whom We May Still Regard As Intellectuals, Zealotry Is A Defect Of The Breed And Not Of The Essence.

If For Every Error And Every Act Of Incompetence One Can Substitute An Act Of Treason, Many Points Of Fascinating Interpretation Are Open To The Paranoid Imagination.