War is mainly a catalogue of blunders.
It is a fine game to play – the game of politics – and it is well worth waiting for a good hand before really plunging.
Christmas is a season not only of rejoicing but of reflection.
We contend that for a nation to try to tax itself into prosperity is like a man standing in a bucket and trying to lift himself up by the handle.
Never give in – never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense.
A state of society where men may not speak their minds cannot long endure.
Want of foresight, unwillingness to act when action would be simple and effective, lack of clear thinking, confusion of counsel until the emergency comes, until self-preservation strikes its jarring gong – these are the features which constitute the endless repetition of history.
When we look back on all the perils through which we have passed and at the mighty foes that we have laid low and all the dark and deadly designs that we have frustrated, why should we fear for our future? We have come safely through the worst.
Healthy citizens are the greatest asset any country can have.
We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out.
Mr. Attlee is a very modest man. Indeed he has a lot to be modest about.
Baldwin thought Europe was a bore, and Chamberlain thought it was only a greater Birmingham.
We are asking the nations of Europe between whom rivers of blood have flowed to forget the feuds of a thousand years.
Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.
We do not covet anything from any nation except their respect.
Those who can win a war well can rarely make a good peace and those who could make a good peace would never have won the war.