Wit Is The Epitaph Of

It Is The Good War That Hallows Every Cause.

There Are Expressions And Bulls-eyes Of The Spirit, There Are Epigrams, A Little Handful Of Words, In Which A Whole Culture, A Whole Society Is Suddenly Crystallized.

What Is Wanted - Whether This Is Admitted Or Not - Is Nothing Less Than A Fundamental Remolding, Indeed Weakening And Abolition Of The Individual: One Never Tires Of Enumerating And Indicating All That Is Evil And Inimical, Prodigal, Costly, Extravagant In The Form Individual Existence Has Assumed Hitherto, One Hopes To Manage More Cheaply, More Safely, More Equitably, More Uniformly If There Exist Only Large Bodies And Their Members.

Man Does Not Strive For Happiness; Only The Englishman Does That.

When An Idea Is Just Rising On The Horizon, The Soul's Temperature With Respect To It Is Usually Very Cold. Only Gradually Does The Idea Develop Its Warmth, And It Is Hottest (which Is To Say, Exerting Its Greatest Influence) When Belief In The Idea Is Already Once Again In Decline.