I want to go ahead of Father Time with a scythe of my own.

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

The Social Contract is nothing more or less than a vast conspiracy of human beings to lie to and humbug themselves for the general Good. Lies are the mortar that bind the savage individual man into the social masonry.

I see knowledge increasing and human power increasing, I see everincreasing possibilities before life, and I see no limits set to it all. Existence impresses me as a perpetual dawn. Our lives, as I apprehend them, swim in expectation.

In politics, strangely enough, the best way to play your cards is to lay them face upwards on the table.

In all the round world there is no meat. There used to be. But now we cannot stand the thought of slaughterhouses.

An immense and ever-increasing wealth of knowledge is scattered about the world today; knowledge that would probably suffice to solve all the mighty difficulties of our age, but it is dispersed and unorganized. We need a sort of mental clearing house for the mind: a depot where knowledge and ideas are received, sorted, summarized, digested, clarified and compared.