You don’t fight for your country: you fight for your platoon.
Reputations for iconoclasm vastly outnumber iconoclasts, which is to be expected, as they are vastly more useful.
Those tiny notifications are ego reified, tugging at you incessantly, like a child at its mother in the supermarket, in the cereal aisle.
At the beginning you go to the gulag for criticizing Stalin; toward the end for being first, when his name is mentioned, to stop applauding.
It is the lies we tell about history that we are most apt to remember.
In lieu of explanation history offers only more detail.
Thanks to the Internet, all inconsequential arguments are settled immediately, and the rest go on forever.
No topic provokes stupidity like intelligence.
Truth’s not Beauty, but it’s interesting.
Precocity, n. Unusually rapid ossification.