“All men are frauds. The only difference between them is that some admit it. I myself deny it.”
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Poetry has done enough when it charms, but prose must also convince.
On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.
Husbands never become good they merely become proficient.
The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary.
