Really, Trees Are Nearly As Important As

Those Who Prepare For War Get It.

This Alone Is To Be Feared - The Closed Mind, The Sleeping Imagination, The Death Of The Spirit. The Death Of The Body Is To That, I Think, A Little Thing.

The Damned Book I Am Writing Is Like The Driveling Of A Weak-kneed Sea Calf. If I Were Sufficiently Strong Minded, I Should Tear It Up An Start Again. But I Don't.

I Can't Think Why I Was Cursed With This Inordinate Desire To Write, If The High Gods Weren't Going To Give Me Some More Adquate Means Of Expressing Myself Than That Which My Present Pedestrian Prose Affords.

But Questioning Does Not Mean The End Of Loving, And Loving Does Not Mean The Abnegation Of Intelligence