Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.
We are suffering from too much sarcasm.
We always love those who admire us; we do not always love those whom we admire.
Every historian with professional standards speaks or writes what he believes to be true.
Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.
As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion of trust can make trust.
Good taste is the worst vice ever invented.
Too rigid specialization is almost as bad for a historian’s mind, and for his ultimate reputation, as too early an indulgence in broad generalization and synthesis.
I even believe in helping an employer function more productively. For then, we will have a claim to higher wages, shorter hours, and greater participation in the benefits of running a smooth industrial machine.
Suffering without understanding in this life is a heap worse than suffering when you have at least the grain of an idea what it’s all for.