Writers like Aldous Huxley and George Orwell have imagined the sort of scientific utopia which is coming to pass, but already their nightmare fancies are hopelessly out of date. A vast, air-conditioned, neon-lighted, glass-and-chromium broiler-house begins to take shape, in which geneticists select the best stocks to fertilise, and watch over the developing embryo to ensure that all possibilities of error and distortion are eliminated.

If God is dead, somebody is going to have to take his place. It will be megalomania or erotomania, the drive for power or the drive for pleasure, the clenched fist or the phallus, Hitler or Hugh Hefner.

The only people I've met in this world who never doubt are materialists and atheists.

He was not only a bore; he bored for England.

Surely the glory of journalism is its transience.

My opinion, my conviction, gains immensely in strength and sureness the minute a second mind as adopted it.

All new news is old news happening to new people