How much larger your life would be if your self could become smaller in it; if you could really look at other men with common curiosity and pleasure;… - G. K. Chesterton

I have little doubt that when St. George had killed the dragon he was heartily afraid of the princess.

No one has even begun to understand comradeship who does not accept with it a certain hearty eagerness in eating, drinking, or smoking, an uproarious materialism which to many women appears only hoggish. You may call the thing an orgy or a sacrament; it is certainly an essential. It is at root a resistance to the superciliousness of the individual. Nay, its very swaggering and howling are humble. In the heart of its rowdiness there is a sort of mad modesty; a desire to melt the separate soul into the mass of unpretentious masculinity. It is a clamorous confession of the weakness of all flesh. No man must be superior to the things that are common to men. This sort of equality must be bodily and gross and comic. Not only are we all in the same boat, but we are all seasick.

He is only a very shallow critic who cannot see an eternal rebel in the heart of the Conservative.