The age of the book is almost gone.
Men are accomplices to that which leaves them indifferent.
Words that are saturated with lies or atrocity, do not easily resume life.
To many men... the miasma of peace seems more suffocating than the bracing air of war.
There is something terribly wrong with a culture inebriated by noise and gregariousness.
The immense majority of human biographies are a gray transit between domestic spasm and oblivion.
The ordinary man casts a shadow in a way we do not quite understand. The man of genius casts light.
It is not the literal past that rules us, save, possibly, in a biological sense. It is images of the past.
A chess genius is a human being who focuses vast, little-understood mental gifts and labors on an ultimately trivial human enterprise.
The journalistic vision sharpens to the point of maximum impact every event, every individual and social configuration but the honing is uniform.