The trouble is not that we are never happy-it is that happiness is so episodical.
Our men must win or die. Pompey's men have. . . other options.
As a result of a general defect of nature, we are either more confident or more fearful of unusual and unknown things.
Every woman's man, and every man's woman.
The things that we want we willingly believe, and the things that we think we expect everyone else to think.
Avoid an unusual and unfamiliar word just as you would a reef.
In war, events of importance are the result of trivial causes.
We are in the process of creating what deserves to be called the idiot culture. Not an idiot sub-culture, which every society has bubbling beneath the surface and which can provide harmless fun; but the culture itself. For the first time, the weird and the stupid and the coarse are becoming our cultural norm, even our cultural ideal.
Countries across the world are taking action now to help them track paedophiles and terrorists who abuse new technology to plot their horrific crimes.
For those who have lived on the edge of poverty all their lives, the semblance of poverty affected by the affluent is both incomprehensible and insulting.
There is no greater stupidity or meanness than to take uniformity for an ideal, as if it were not a benefit and a joy to a man, being what he is, to know that many are, have been, and will be better than he.