Life Is But A Web Spun Of

While We May Open The Books Of The Past, We May But Grant Flying Glances Of The Future, Through The Mist That Veils It.

It Seems To Me That Many Writers, By Virtue Of Environments Of Culture, Art And Education, Slip Into Writing Because Of Their Environments.

Man Is Better Without Knowledge Of Things To Come, For What Is To Be Will Be, And Man Can Neither Avert Nor Hasten. It Is Better To Go In The Dark When The Road Must Pass A Lion And There Is No Other Road.

I Have Accomplished Little Enough, But Such As It Is, It Is The Result Of My Own Efforts.

Over The Souls Of Men Spread The Condor Wings Of Colossal Monsters And All Manner Of Evil Things Prey Upon The Heart And Soul And Body Of Man. Yet It May Be In Some Far Day The Shadows Shall Fade And The Prince Of Darkness Be Chained Forever In His Hell. And Till Then Mankind Can But Stand Up Stoutly To The Monsters In His Own Heart And Without, And With The Aid Of God He May Yet Triumph.