The Dread Of Criticism Is The Death

Stagnation Is Something Worse Than Death. It Is Corruption, Also.

I Know Not That There Is Anything In Nature More Soothing To The Mind Than The Contemplation Of The Moon, Sailing, Like Some Planetary Bark, Amidst A Sea Of Bright Azure. The Subject Is Certainly Hackneyed; The Moon Has Been Sung By Poet And Poetaster. Is There Any Marvel That It Should Be So?

Most Men Remember Obligations, But Not Often To Be Grateful; The Proud Are Made Sour By The Remembrance And The Vain Silent.

I Listen To Them Freely And With All The Respect Merited By Their Intelligence, Their Character, Their Knowledge, Reserving Always My Incontestable Right Of Criticism And Censure.

The Birth Of A Child Is The Imprisonment Of A Soul. The Soul Must Work Its Way Out Of Prison, And, In Doing So, Provide Itself With Wings For A Future Journey. It Is For Each Of Us To Determine Whether Our Wings Shall Be Those Of An Angel Or A Grub!