The loss of our illusions is the only loss from which we never recover.

Indifference is the invincible grant of the world.

Talent wears well, genius wears itself out; talent drives a snug brougham in fact; genius, a sun-chariot in fancy.

Genius cannot escape the taint of its time more than a child the influence of its begetting.

We do not want to think. We do not want to hear. We do not care about anything. Only give us a good dinner and plenty of money, and let us outshine our neighbors. There is the Nineteenth Century Gospel.

There is nothing that you may not get people to believe in if you will only tell it them loud enough and often enough, till the welkin rings with it.

What is failure except feebleness? And what is it to miss one's mark except to aim widely and weakly?