There are no second acts in American lives.


There is a constant in the average American imagination and taste, for which the past must be preserved and celebrated in full-scale authentic copy; a philosophy of immortality as duplication. It dominates the relation with the self, with the past, not infrequently with the present, always with History and, even, with the European tradition.


There is no country in the world where machinery is so lovely as in America.


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.


There is nothing wrong with America that faith, love of freedom, intelligence, and energy of her citizens cannot cure.


There is one expanding horror in American life. It is that our long odyssey toward liberty, democracy and freedom-for-all may be achieved in such a way that utopia remains forever closed, and we live in freedom and hell, debased of style, not individual from one another, void of courage, our fear rationalized away.


There isn't a single human characteristic that can be safely labeled as ''American.''


This generation of Americans has a rendezvous with destiny.


This monster of a land, this mightiest of nations, this spawn of the future, turns out to be the macrocosm of microcosm me.


To be an American (unlike being English or French or whatever) is precisely to imagine a destiny rather than to inherit one; since we have always been, insofar as we are Americans at all, inhabitants of myth rather than history.


To me Americanism means an imperative duty to be nobler than the rest of the world.


To us Americans much has been given; of us much is required. With all our faults and mistakes, it is our strength in support of the freedom our forefathers loved which has saved mankind from subjection to totalitarian power.


Two things in America are astonishing: the changeableness of most human behavior and the strange stability of certain principles. Men are constantly on the move, but the spirit of humanity seems almost unmoved.


We are a puny and fickle folk. Avarice, hesitation, and following are our diseases.


We are more thoroughly an enlightened people, with respect to our political interests, than perhaps any other under heaven. Every man among us reads, and is so easy in his circumstances as to have leisure for conversations of improvement and for acquiring information.


We are not afraid to entrust the American people with unpleasant facts, foreign ideas, alien philosophies, and competitive values. For a nation that is afraid to let its people judge the truth and falsehood in an open market is a nation that is afraid of its people.


We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on.


We must stop talking about the American dream and start listening to the dreams of the Americans.


What the United States does best is to understand itself. What it does worst is understand others.


What you have to do is enter the fiction of America, enter America as fiction. It is, indeed, on this fictive basis that it dominates the world.

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