Man Hoards Himself When He Has Nothing

We Are Ruled By Chance But Never Have Enough Patience To Accept Its Despotism.

Narcissus Never Wrote Well Nor Was A Friend.

The Newspaper Has Debauched The American Until He Is A Slavish, Simpering, And Angerless Citizen; It Has Taught Him To Be A Lump Mass-man Toward Fraud, Simony, Murder, And Lunacies More Vile Than Those Of Commodus Or Caracalla.

Man Is At The Nadir Of His Stregth When The Earth, The Seas, The Mountains Are Not In Him, For Without Them His Soul Is Unsourced, And He Has No Images By Which To Abide.

Men Are Mad Most Of Their Lives; Few Live Sane, Fewer Die So. The Acts Of People Are Baffling Unless We Realize That Their Wits Are Disordered. Man Is Driven To Justice By His Lunacy.