More blood’s been spilled by the militant adherents of prophets of change than by any other group of people down through the history of man.

They are fools that think that wealth or women or strong drink or even drugs can buy the most in effort out of the soul of a man. These things offer pale pleasures compared to that which is greatest of them all, that task which demands from him more than his utmost strength, that absorbs him, bone and sinew and brain and hope and fear and dreams – and still calls for more.

John Le Carre said that authenticity is less important than plausibility.

I’m not an expert,” said Cletus. “I’m a scholar. There’s a difference. An expert’s a man who knows a great deal about his subject. A scholar’s someone who knows all there is that’s available to be known about it.

We’re painted savages, nothing more, in spite of what we like to think of as some thousands of years of civilization. Only our present paint’s called clothing and our caves called buildings.

We wouldn’t be capable of hope, if hope had no meaning.

I, wanderer, stand awaiting the signal.

For sooner or later, no matter what fantastic long-range weapons you mounted, the ground itself had to be taken – and for that there had never been anything but the man in the ranks.

Unrivalled not only in its class, but in a class by itself.

Trouble rather the tiger in his lair than the sage among his books. For to you kingdoms and their armies are things mighty and enduring, but to him they are but toys of the moment, to be overturned with the flick of a finger.