Great people talk about ideas, average people talk about things

"Great people talk about ideas, average people talk about things, and small people talk about wine." — Fran Lebowitz

In this sharp and witty remark, Fran Lebowitz, the ever-observant chronicler of human behavior, captures the eternal hierarchy of thought. Her words, though cloaked in humor, carry the weight of profound truth. She reminds us that the measure of a person’s greatness lies not in what they possess, but in what they think about. The great fix their gaze upon ideas—concepts that shape nations, awaken souls, and move the course of history. The average dwell upon things, upon the material and the measurable. And the small, trapped in vanity and trivial pleasure, fixate upon fleeting indulgences—here symbolized by wine, the emblem of idle talk and self-absorption.

The origin of this idea predates Lebowitz herself. It echoes the wisdom often attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, who said, “Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.” Lebowitz, ever the satirist, twists the saying into a sharper, more modern mirror—reflecting a society consumed not by ideas but by consumption itself. In her version, wine becomes the symbol of distraction, of conversation that circles endlessly around taste and luxury rather than meaning. Yet behind her jest lies lamentation: that the world has grown noisy with chatter and empty of thought.

To talk about ideas is to engage with eternity. The ancient philosophers of Greece—the likes of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle—spent their lives in conversation, not about possessions or pleasures, but about the soul, justice, truth, and the nature of existence. Their words became the foundation of civilization, echoing across centuries. Such is the mark of the great: they look beyond the immediate, seeking to uncover the unseen laws that govern all things. Their speech is fire—it ignites imagination, it challenges the slumbering mind, and it stirs the spirit toward wisdom.

By contrast, average people, as Lebowitz notes, concern themselves with things—the tangible, the comfortable, the immediate. They discuss the rise and fall of possessions, the marvels of technology, the weight of currency, or the beauty of the latest creation. Their talk, though not vain, remains earthbound. It does not ascend to vision; it stays close to the soil of the ordinary. And yet, there is dignity here too, for in every human conversation lies a spark of curiosity. The danger, however, is stagnation—when one forgets that things are only vessels, not ends. The truly wise use things as bridges toward greater understanding, not as prisons for their attention.

Then there are the small, those who shrink from substance to pursue pleasure alone. They drink not to toast the gods but to escape themselves. They fill their mouths with opinions yet leave their minds empty. When Lebowitz speaks of “wine,” she does not merely mean the drink; she means all that distracts us from reflection—all the glitter that blinds us from light. These souls are consumed by the self, lost in gossip and indulgence. They may laugh loudly, but their laughter fades quickly, for it springs from no deeper source than vanity.

History itself shows this contrast clearly. In the salons of Enlightenment Europe, thinkers such as Voltaire, Diderot, and Rousseau gathered not to boast of wealth but to forge ideas that would transform empires. Yet in the courts of kings, nobles feasted and quarreled over trifles, discussing fashion and flavor while revolutions brewed beneath them. When the storm of change arrived, it was not the wealthy diners who shaped destiny, but the thinkers who had dared to dream. Thus, the words of Lebowitz remind us that greatness is not a crown upon the head, but a flame within the mind.

So, my child of the future, hear this wisdom and choose your speech with care. Feed your mind, not your vanity. Seek out ideas, even when they challenge you. When you speak, let your words lift others toward reflection, not sink them into triviality. Discuss art, philosophy, justice, creation—matters that endure when the banquet ends. Do not scorn pleasure, but let it serve the spirit, not enslave it. For when your days are done, no one will remember the wine you sipped, but they will remember the ideas you shared, the light you kindled in others, and the truths you dared to speak. In this, as Fran Lebowitz teaches through her biting wit, lies the true distinction between the great and the small: not what we drink, but what we think.