I Know Of No Place Where The

The Best Prose Is Written By Authors Who See Their Universe With A Poet’s Eyes.

Politics Are Usually The Executive Expression Of Human Immaturity.

Most Men, Whether Men Or Women, Wish Above All Else To Be Comfortable, And Thought Is A Pre-eminently Uncomfortable Process; It Brings To The Individual Far More Suffering Than Happiness In A Semi-civilised World Which Still Goes To War.

Why, I Wonder, Do People Who At One Time Or Another Have All Been Young Themselves, And Who Ought Therefore To Know Better, Generalize So Suavely And So Mendaciously About The Golden Hours Of Youth-that Period Of Life When Every Sorrow Seems Permanent, And Every Setback Insuperable?

Definite Gifts Render Their Possessors Capable Of Overcoming Any Obstacle This Side Of Death; They Create An Impetus Of Far More Genuine Value Than External Advantages In Some Other Career Where The Impulse To Make Use Of Them Remains Weak Or Non-existent. The Work That One Enjoys Is The Greatest Source Of Happiness And Vitality In Life.