The crying sounded even louder out of doors. It was as if all the painin the world had found a voice
Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no need of change.
It was not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of research.
It sounds plausible enough tonight, but wait until tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.
It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger, and trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. Nature...
For neither do men live nor die in vain. Here
Common sense and every material reality insisted upon the unification of human life throughout the planet and the socialisation of its elementary needs, and pitted against that was the fact that every...
Our true nationality is mankind.
What is this spirit in man that urges him forever to depart from happiness and security, to toil, to place himself in danger, even to risk a reasonable certainty of death? It dawned upon me up there i...
Well, anyhow, the practical outcome of all these damn democratic ideas, is that men of our quality -- yes, damn it! we have a quality -- excuse themselves from the hard and thankless service they owe...
Very simple was my explanation, and plausible enough---as most wrong theories are!
There is no liberty save wisdom and self-control.
The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a l...
The red tongues that went licking up my heap of wood were an altogether new and strange thing to Weena.
That Anarchist world, I admit, is our dream; we do believe - well, I, at any rate, believe this present world, this planet, will some day bear a race beyond our most exalted and temerarious dreams, a...
So utterly at variance is Destiny with all the little plans of men.
Nothing endures, nothing is precise and certain (except the mind of a pedant), perfection is the mere repudiation of that ineluctable marginal inexactitude which is the mysterious inmost quality of Be...
I grieved to think how brief the dream of the human intellect had been. It had committed suicide.
An idiot child screaming in a hospital." (on George Bernard Shaw)
It is possible to believe that all the past is but the beginning of a beginning, and that all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn. It is possible to believe that all the human mind ha...