Socialism is nothing but the capitalism of the lower classes.

Those who talk too much about race no longer have it in them.

Philosophy, the love of Wisdom, is at the very bottom defence against the incomprehensible.

The press today is an army with carefully organized weapons, the journalists its officers, the readers its soldiers. The reader neither knows nor is supposed to know the purposes for which he is used and the role he is to play.

In place of a world, there is a city, a point, in which the whole life of broad regions is collecting while the rest dries up. In place of a type-true people, born of and grown on the soil, there is a new sort of nomad, cohering unstably in fluid masses, the parasitical city dweller, traditionless, utterly matter-of-fact, religionless, clever, unfruitful, deeply contemptuous of the countryman and especially that highest form of countryman, the country gentleman.

One cannot learn how to be creative by reading Marx. Either one is creative or one is not.

Peace is a desire, war is a fact; and history has never paid heed to human desires and ideals.