The new school of art and thought does indeed wear an air of audacity, and breaks out everywhere into blasphemies, as if it required any courage to say a blasphemy. There is only one thing that it requires real courage to say, and that is a truism.
Americans are a very backward people, with all the real virtues of a backward people; the patriarchal simplicity and human dignity of a democracy, and a respect for labor uncorrupted by cynicism.
All real democracy is an attempt like that of a jolly hostess to bring the shy people out.
There is only one thing that it requires real courage to say, and that is a truism.
We ought to be interested in that darkest and most real part of a man in which dwell not the vices that he does not display, but the virtues that he cannot.
I am not fighting a hopeless fight. People who have fought in real fights don’t, as a rule.
The real trouble with this world of ours is not that it is an unreasonable one. The trouble is that it is nearly reasonable, but not quite.
Any man who preaches real love is bound to beget hate. It is as true of democratic fraternity as a divine love; sham love ends in compromise and common philosophy; but real love has always ended in bloodshed.
If Christianity should happen to be true – that is to say, if its God is the real God of the universe – then defending it may mean talking about anything and everything.
There is nothing the matter with Americans except their ideals. The real American is all right; it is the ideal American who is all wrong.
The fatal metaphor of progress, which means leaving things behind us, has utterly obscured the real idea of growth, which means leaving things inside us.
Inner space is the real frontier.
Karla Jay’s intimate account of life in the early years of feminism and gay liberation is as irresistible as a novel, but as credible, humorous, and unexpected as real life.
If what’s inside your dreams wasn’t already real inside you, you couldn’t even dream it.
When I was little, I knew that I was not adopted, but I actually imagined and hoped that I was, and that my real parents were going to come get me. I was just too different from the rest of the family, so I lived in books and in my imagination.
Let us never forget to pray. God lives. He is near. He is real. He is not only aware of us but cares for us. He is our Father. He is accessible to all who will seek Him.
Our lives are the only meaningful expression of what we believe and in Whom we believe. And the only real wealth, for any of us, lies in our faith.
Believe in the power of prayer – it is real, it is wonderful, it is tremendous.
Let us never forget to pray. God lives. He is near. He is real.
No, Groucho is not my real name. I am breaking it in for a friend.