Mystery Lies Over The Sea. Every Ship

The Days On Which One Has Been The Most Inquisitive Are Among The Days On Which One Has Been Happiest.

Were I A Philosopher, I Should Write A Philosophy Of Toys, Showing That Nothing Else In Life Need To Be Taken Seriously, And That Christmas Day In The Company Of Children Is One Of The Few Occasions On Which Men Become Entirely Alive.

When One Has Praised Turgenev, However, For The Beauty Of His Character And The Beautiful Truth Of His Art, One Remembers That He, Too, Was Human And Therefore Less Than Perfect. His Chief Failing Was, Perhaps, That Of All The Great Artists, He Was The Most Lacking In Exuberance. That Is Why He Began To Be Scorned In A World Which Rated Exuberance Higher Than Beauty Or Love Or Pity.

There Is Nothing In Which The Birds Differ More From Man Than The Way In Which They Can Build And Yet Leave A Landscape As It Was Before.

The Last Spectacle Of Which Christian Men Are Likely To Grow Tired Is A Harbour. Centuries Hence There May Be Jumping-off Places For The Stars, And Our Children's Children's And So Forth Children May Regard A Ship As A Creeping Thing Scarcely More Adventurous Than A Worm. Meanwhile, Every Harbour Gives Us A Sense Of Being In Touch, If Not With The Ends Of The Universe, With The Ends Of The Earth.