I Hope That One Or Two Immortal

The Intellectual Is A Middle-class Product; If He Is Not Born Into The Class He Must Soon Insert Himself Into It, In Order To Exist. He Is The Fine Nervous Flower Of The Bourgeoisie.

O God, In The Dream The Terrible Horse Began To Paw At The Air, And Make For Me With His Blows.

Hate Does Not Present Many Choices; If Hate Is Your Solution, You Are Fairly Certain To Hate All Phemonena With Equal Joy And Intensity, Without Troubling To Drag Into Prominence Any One Feature From The Loathsome Whole.

Perhaps This Very Instant Is Your Time.

... How Much Of Our Inner Substance Is It Good For Us To Give To Public Griefs? The Whole Modern Tendency To Agonize Over The Suffering Of The Entire Globe Is Surely Something New.