There Is No Gift More Great Than

If We Assiduously Cultivate Our Powers Of Exaggeration, Perhaps We, Too, Shall Obtain The Paradise Of Liars. And There Raphael Shall Paint For Us Scores And Scores Of His Manifestly Impossible Pictures... And Shakespeare Will Lie To Us Of Fabulous Islands Far Past 'the Still-vex'd Bermoothes,' And Bring Us Fresh Tales From The Coast Of Bohemia. For No One Will Speak The Truth There, And We Shall All Be Perfectly Happy.

What Am I That I Am Called Upon To Have Prejudices Concerning The Universe?

For All Men Have But A Little While To Live And None Knows His Fate Thereafter. So That A Man Possesses Nothing Certainly Save A Brief Loan Of His Body: And Yet The Body Of Man Is Capable Of Much Curious Pleasure.

I Am Manuel. I Have Lived In The Loneliness Which Is Common To All Men, But The Difference Is That I Have Known It. Now It Is Necessary For Me, As It Is Necessary For All Men, To Die In This Same Loneliness, And I Know That There Is No Help For It.

What Really Matters Is That There Is So Much Faith And Love And Kindliness Which We Can Share With And Provoke In Others, And That By Cleanly, Simple, Generous Living We Approach Perfection In The Highest And Most Lovely Of All Arts. . . . But You, I Think, Have Always Comprehended This.