The individual - stupendous and beautiful paradox - is at once infinitesimal dust and the cause of all things.

For the truth is that men do not desire to be the Common Man any more than they are the Common Man. They need greatness in others and the occasion to discover the greatness in themselves.

Without the imaginative insight which goes with creative literature, history cannot be intelligibly written.

The historian ought to be the humblest of men; he is faced a dozen times a day with the evidence of his own ignorance; he is perpetually confronted with his own humiliating inability to interpret his material correctly; he is, in a sense that no other writer is, in bondage to that material.

Democracy, like the human organism, carries within it the seed of its own destruction.

We have more to learn today from the spectacle of a great man at a great moment than from any number of monographs on ancient wage levels.

My own varying estimates of the facts themselves, as the years passed, showed me too clearly how much of history must always rest in the eye of the beholder; our deductions are so often different it is impossible they should always be right.