Affliction comes to us, not to make us sad but sober; not to make us sorry but wise.

This is the end and the beginning of an age. This is something far greater than the French Revolution or the Reformation and we live in it.

Nothing leads so straight to futility as literary ambitions without systematic knowledge.

Countless people...will hate the New World Order...and will die protesting against it...we have to bear in mind the distress of a generation or so of malcontents.

I saw a gray-haired man a figure of hale age, sitting at a desk and writing.

The establishment of the world community will surely exact a price – and who can tell what that price may be? – in toil, suffering and blood.

The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives - all that was over.