... how much of our inner substance is it good for us to give to public griefs? The whole modern tendency to agonize over the suffering of the entire globe is surely something new.

Hate does not present many choices; if hate is your solution, you are fairly certain to hate all phemonena with equal joy and intensity, without troubling to drag into prominence any one feature from the loathsome whole.

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

... how much of our inner substance is it good for us to give to public griefs? The whole modern tendency to agonize over the suffering of the entire globe is surely something new.

The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?

The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.

Innocence of heart and violence of feeling are necessary in any kind of superior achievement: The arts cannot exist without them.