A Man's Ego Is The Fountainhead Of

The Writer Who Develops A Beautiful Style, But Has Nothing To Say, Represents A Kind Of Arrested Esthetic Development; He Is Like A Pianist Who Acquires A Brilliant Technique By Playing Finger-exercises, But Never Gives A Concert.

I Love You. As The Same Value, As The Same Expression, With The Same Pride And The Same Meaning As I Love My Work, My Mills, My Metal, My Hours At A Desk, At A Furnace, In A Laboratory, In An Ore Mine, As I Love My Ability To Work, As I Love The Act Of Sight And Knowledge, As I Love The Action Of My Mind When It Solves A Chemical Equation Or Grasps A Sunrise, As I Love The Things I've Made And The Things I've Felt, As *my* Product, As *my* Choice, As A Shape Of My World, As My Best Mirror, As The Wife I've Never Had, As That Which Makes All The Rest Of It Possible: As My Power To Live.

Did It Ever Occur To You, That There Is No Conflict Of Interests Among Men, Neither In Business Nor In Trade Nor In Their Most Personal Desires If They Omit The Irrational From Their View Of The Possible And Destruction From Their View Of The Practical? There Is No Conflict, And No Call For Sacrifice, And No Man Is A Threat To The Aims Of Another If Men Understand That Reality Is An Absolute Not To Be Faked, That Lies Do Not Work, That The Unearned Cannot Be Had, That The Undeserved Cannot Be Given, That The Destruction Of A Value Which Is, Will Not Bring Value To That Which Isn't.

Don't Rely On Our Knowledge Of What's Best For Your Future. We Do Know, But It Can't Be Best Until You Know It.

Happiness Is Not Something You Have In Your Hands; It's Something You Carry In Your Heart. Happiness Is One Thing That Multiplies By Division. Happiness Is That Peculiar Sensation You Acquire When You Are Too Busy To Be Miserable. Happiness Is That State Of Consciousness Which Proceeds From The Achievement Of One's Values.