The Crash Of The Whole Solar And

Evil, Once Manfully Fronted, Ceases To Be Evil; There Is Generous Battle-hope In Place Of Dead, Passive Misery; The Evil Itself Has Become A Kind Of Good.

The Dead Are All Holy, Even They That Were Base And Wicked While Alive. Their Baseness And Wickedness Was Not They, Was But The Heavy And Unmanageable Environment That Lay Round Them.

There Is In Man A Higher Than Love Of Happiness; He Can Do Without Happiness, And Instead Thereof Find Blessedness.

A Background Of Wrath, Which Can Be Stirred Up To The Murderous Infernal Pitch, Does Lie In Every Man.

The Secret Of Business Is To Know Something That Nobody Else Knows. The Greatest Of Faults, I Should Say Is To Be Conscious Of None.