A Man Is A Worker. If He

Every Age Is Fed On Illusions, Lest Men Should Renounce Life Early And The Human Race Come To An End.

We Can Never Cease To Be Ourselves.

I Remember My Youth And The Feeling That Will Never Come Back Any More /the Feeling That I Could Last For Ever, Outlast The Sea, The Earth, And All Men; The Deceitful Feeling That Lures Us On To Joys, To Perils, To Love, To Vain Effort /to Death; The Triumphant Conviction Of Strength, The Heat Of Life In The Handful Of Dust, The Glow In The Heart That With Every Year Grows Dim, Grows Cold, Grows Small, And Expires /and Expires, Too Soon, Too Soon /before Life Itself

The Real Significance Of Crime Is In Its Being A Breach Of Faith With The Community Of Mankind.

Vanity Plays Lurid Tricks With Our Memory.