The Philosopher Is Nature's Pilot.

This Is The True Joy In Life: Being Used For A Purpose Recognized By Yourself As A Mighty One, Being A Force Of Nature Instead Of A Feverish, Selfish Little Clod Of Ailments And Grievances, Complaining That The World Will Not Devote Itself To Making You Happy. I Am Of The Opinion That My Life Belongs To The Whole Community And As Long As I Live, It Is My Privilege To Do For It What I Can. It Is A Sort Of Splendid Torch Which I Have Got Hold Of For The Moment And I Want To Make It Burn As Brightly As Possible Before Handing It On To Future Generations.

Our Prejudices Are So Deeply Rooted That We Never Think Of Them As Prejudices But Call Them Common Sense.

What Is Wrong With The Prosaic Englishman Is What Is Wrong With The Prosaic Men Of All Countries: Stupidity.

Hollywood Keeps Before Its Child Audiences A String Of Glorified Young Heroes, Everyone Of Whom Is An Unhesitating And Violent Anarchist. His One Answer To Everything That Annoys Him Or Disparages His Country Or His Parents Or His Young Lady Or His Personal Code Of Manly Conduct Is To Give The Offender A "sock" In The Jaw.... My Observation Leads Me To Believe That It Is Not The Virtuous People Who Are Good At Socking Jaws.

What Is Both Surprising And Delightful Is That The Spectators Are Allowed, And Even Expected, To Join In The Vocal Part Of The Game...there Is No Reason Why The Field Should Not Try To Put The Batsman Off His Stroke At The Critical Moment By Neatly Timed Disparagements Of His Wife's Fidelity And His Mother's Respectability.