The Success Or Failure Of A Life,

I Make It A Rule Always To Believe Compliments Implicitly For Five Minutes, And To Simmer Gently For Twenty More.

Notwithstanding The Poverty Of My Outside Experience, I Have Always Had A Significance For Myself, And Every Chance To Stumle Along My Straight And Narrow Little Path, And To Worship At The Feet Of My Deity, And What More Can A Human Soul Ask For?

Who Would Ever Give Up The Reality Of Dreams For Relative Knowledge?

I Think That If I Get Into The Habit Of Writing A Bit About What Happens, Or Rather Doesn't Happen, I May Lose A Little Of The Sense Of Isolation And Desolation Which Abides With Me. My Circumstances Allowing Of Nothing But The Ejaculation Of One-syllabled Reflections, A Written Monologue By That Most Interesting Being, Myself, May Have Its Yet To Be Discovered Consolations.

Destitution And Excessive Luxury Develop Apparently The Same Ideals, The Same Marauding Attitude Towards Mankind, The Intensity Of Struggle For Material Goods, -- Surely Showing How Perfect Is The Meeting Of Extremes.