The Worst Vice Of The Solitary Is

When Young We Are Faithful To Individuals, When Older We Grow Loyal To Situations And To Types.

For What Is Liberty But The Unhampered Translation Of Will Into Act?

While Thoughts Exist, Words Are Alive And Literature Becomes An Escape, Not From, But Into Living.

If Montaigne Is A Man In The Prime Of Life Sitting In His Study On A Warm Morning And Putting Down The Sum Of His Experience In His Rich, Sinewy Prose, Then Pascal Is That Same Man Lying Awake In The Small Hours Of The Night When Death Seems Very Close And Every Thought Is Heightened By The Apprehension That It May Be His Last.

Civilization Is Maintained By A Very Few People In A Small Number Of Places And We Need Only Some Bombs And A Few Prisons To Blot It Out Altogether.