In this world we must either institute conventional forms of expression or else pretend that we have nothing to express; the choice lies between a mask and a figleaf.

Beauty as we feel it is something indescribable; what it is or what it means can never be said.

Every nation thinks its own madness normal and requisite; more passion and more fancy it calls folly, less it calls imbecility.

There is no greater stupidity or meanness than to take uniformity for an ideal.

People who feel themselves to be exiles in this world are mightily inclined to believe themselves citizens of another.

Wealth, religion, military victory have more rhetorical than efficacious worth.

Oxford, the paradise of dead philosophies.