Having disciples is in the end like having children, only not with love but with self-love preeminent.
It is one of the sublime provincialities of New York that its inhabitants lap up trivial gossip about essential nobodies they've never set eyes on, while continuing to boast that they could live somewhere for twenty years without so much as exchanging pleasantries with their neighbors across the hall.
Someone who gossips well has a reputation for being good company or even a wit, never for being a gossip.
The materialistic idealism that governs American life, that on the one hand makes a chariot of every grocery wagon, and on the other a mere hitching post of every star, lets every man lead a very enticing double life.
The moving van is a symbol of more than our restlessness, it is the most conclusive evidence possible of our progress.
One must never judge the writer by the man; but one may fairly judge the man by the writer.
London ... remains a man's city where New York is chiefly a woman's. London has whole streets that cater to men's wants. It has its great solid phalanx of fortress clubs.
The Englishman wants to be recognized as a gentleman, or as some other suitable species of human being; the American wants to be considered a good guy.
With intellectuals, moral thought is often less a tonic that quickens ethical action than a narcotic that deadens it.
The life of sense begins by assuming that we can only fitfully live the life of reason.
The thrust of ambition is, and always has been, great, but among the bright-eyed it had once a more adventurous and individualistic air, a much more bracing rivalry.
The truly ambitious are always as busy on the landings as they are breathless on the stairs.
We might define an eccentric as a man who is a law unto himself, and a crank as one who, having determined what the law is, insists on laying it down to others.
In an automobile civilization, which was one of constant motion and activity, there was almost no time to think; in a television one, there is small desire.
True individualists tend to be quite unobservant; it is the snob, the would be sophisticate, the frightened conformist, who keeps a fascinated or worried eye on what is in the wind.
In the history of thought and culture the dark nights have perhaps in some ways cost mankind less grief than the false dawns, the prison houses in which hope persists less grief than the promised lands where hope expires.
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