Nationalism (n.) is a destroyer of the intellect.
Nationalism (n.) is an artificial state of siege imposed on the many by the few — dynasties and business classes — kept up by cunning, force and falsehood; better to be simply a good European.
Nationalism (n.) is, let us not deceive ourselves, merely another form of exoticism.
Nationalism (n.) is the national scabies of the heart and blood poisoning by which Europe's nations barricade themselves as if against quarantine — we are too traveled for it.
Nationalism (n.) as an atavistic attack of fatherlandishness and soil addiction takes good Europeans only hours to get over, and may take dull and sluggish races half a century even in this rapidly moving Europe before they return to reason, meaning good Europeanism.
Nationalism (n.) is a nerve fever: little attacks of hebetation — anti-French, anti-Jewish, anti-Polish, Teutonic, Prussian — pass over a people that suffers and wants to suffer from it.
Nationalism (n.) is the most anti-cultural sickness and unreason there is — a névrose nationale that drove Europe into a dead-end street.
Nationalism (n.) is bovine boorish self-conceit, at a moment when the meaning of culture lies in mutual blending and fertilization.
Nationalism (n.) as now understood demands narrowness; what is really happening is its disappearance and the making of the European.