I have myself a poetical enthusiasm for pigs, and the paradise of my fancy is one where pigs have wings. But it is only men, especially wise men, who discuss whether pigs can fly; we have no particular proof that pigs ever discuss it.

There is nothing the matter with Americans except their ideals. The real American is all right; it is the ideal American who is all wrong.

When learned men begin to use their reason, then I generally discover that they haven't got any.

If you argue with a madman, it is extremely probable that you will get the worst of it; for in many ways his mind moves all the quicker for not being delayed by the things that go with good judgment.

Most Americans are born drunk, and really require a little wine or beer to sober them. They have a sort of permanent intoxication from within, a sort of invisible champagne. Americans do not need to drink to inspire them to do anything, though they do sometimes, I think, need a little for the deeper and more delicate purpose of teaching them how to do nothing.

The pure modernist is merely a snob; he cannot bear to be a month behind the fashion.

A change of opinions is almost unknown in an elderly military man.