There is no bad day that can’t be overcome by listening to a barbershop quartet. This is just truth, plain and simple.

The third petition of the Lord's Prayer is repeated daily by millions who have not the slightest intention of letting anyone's will be done but their own.

Drill and uniforms impose an architecture on the crowd. An army's beautiful. But that's not all; it panders to lower instincts than the aesthetic. The spectacle of human beings reduced to automatism satisfies the lust for power. Looking at mechanized slaves, one fancies oneself a master.

A large city cannot be experientially known; its life is too manifold for any individual to be able to participate in it.

Assembled in a crowd, people lose their powers of reasoning and their capacity for moral choice.

If one is not oneself a sage or saint, the best thing one can do is to study the words of those who were.

Assemble a mob of men and women previously conditioned by a daily reading of the newspapers; treat them to amplified band music, bright lights...and in next to no time you can reduce them to a state of almost mindless subhumanity. Never before have so few been in a position to make fools, maniacs, or criminals of so many.