To hang on from day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air available.

It is the same in all wars; the soldiers do the fighting, the journalists do the shouting, and no true patriot ever gets near a front-line trench, except on the briefest of propaganda tours.

The end was contained in the beginning.

We are the dead. Our only true life is in the future.

If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.

All writers are vain, selfish and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives lies a mystery.

From the proletarians nothing is to be feared. Left to themselves, they will continue from generation to generation and from century to century, working, breeding, and dying, not only without any impulse to rebel, but without the power of grasping that the world could be other than it is.