A crowd always thinks with its sympathy, never with its reason.
The mob is a monster, with the hand of Briareus, but the head of Polyphemus, strong to execute, but blind to perceive.
It is an easy and vulgar thing to please the mob, and not a very arduous task to astonish them; but to benefit and improve them is a work fraught with difficulty, and teeming with danger.
Every numerous assembly is a mob; everything there depends on instantaneous turns.
A mob is usually a creature of very mysterious existence, particularly in a large city. Where it comes from, or whither it goes, few men can tell. Assembling and dispersing with equal suddenness, it is as difficult to follow to its various sources as the sea itself; nor does the parallel stop here, for the ocean is not more fickle and uncertain, more terrible when roused, more unreasonable or more cruel.
A mob is the scum that rises upmost when the nation boils.
A mob is a society of bodies, voluntarily bereaving themselves of reason, and traversing its work.—The mob is man, voluntarily descending to the nature of the beast.—Its fit hour of activity is night; its actions are insane, like its whole constitution.
When roused to rage the maddening populace storms, their fury-like a rolling flame, bursts forth unquenchable; but give its violence ways, it spends itself, and as its force abates, learns to obey and yields it to your will.
Get together a hundred or two men, however sensible they may be, and you are very likely to have a mob.
Mankind in the gross is a gaping monster, that loves to be deceived, and has seldom been disappointed.
The multitude unawed is insolent; once seized with fear, contemptible and vain.
Let there be an entire abstinence from intoxicating drinks throughout this country during the period of a single generation, and a mob would be as impossible as combustion without oxygen.
As a goose is not alarmed by hissing, nor a sheep by bleating; so neither be you terrified by the voice of a senseless multitude.
License they mean, when they cry liberty.
There is nothing so little to be expected or hoped for from this many headed monster, when incensed, as humanity and good nature; it is much more capable of alarm and fear.
These wide-mouthed brutes, that bellow thus for freedom; oh! how they run before the hand of power, flying for shelter into every brake!
A mob is a sort of bear; while your ring is through its nose, it will even dance under your cudgel; but should the ring slip, and you lose your hold, the brute will turn and rend you.
You can talk a mob into anything; its feelings may be—usually are—on the whole generous and right: but it has no foundation for them, no hold of them; you may tease or tickle it into any, at your pleasure; it thinks by infection, for the most part, catching a passion like a cold, and there is nothing so little that it will not roar itself wild about, when the fit is on; nothing so great but it will forget it in an hour, when the fit is past. But a gentleman's, or a gentle nation's passions are just, measured, and continuous.
The blind, unwieldy monster, which, at first, rattles its bones, threatening to swallow high and low, the near and distant, with its gaping jaws, at last stumbles over a thread.
Human affairs are not so happily arranged that the best things please the most men.—It is the proof of a bad cause when it is applauded by the mob.
You have many enemies that know not why they are so, but, like village curs, bark when their fellows do.
The blind monster, with uncounted heads, the still discordant, wavering multitude.
The many-headed multitude, whom inconstancy only by accident doth guide to well-doing!—Who can set confidence there, where company takes away shame, and each may lay the fault upon his fellow.
Inconstant, blind, deserting friends at need, and duped by foes; loud and seditious, when a chief inspired their headlong fury, but of him deprived, already slaves that lick'd the scourging hand.