Philosophy, as the modern world knows it, is only intellectual club-swinging.

[Texas is] the place where there are the most cows and the least milk and the most rivers and the least water in them, and where you can look the farthest to see the least.

The notion that anything is gained by fixing a language in a groove is cherished only by pedants.

[Art is] an attempt to escape from life.

The genuine music lover may accept the carnal husk of opera to get at the kernel of actual music within, but that is no sign that he approves the carnal husk or enjoys gnawing through it.

All talk of winning the people by appealing to their intelligence, of conquering them by impeccable syllogism, is so much moonshine.

Our whole practical government is grounded in mob psychology and the Boobus Americanus will follow any command that promises to make him safer.