Alcohol Tells Truth, But Its Truth Is

Man Is Man Because He Chanced To Develop Intelligence Instead Of Instinct; Otherwise He Would To This Day Have Remained Among The Anthropoid Apes. He Has Turned Away From Nature, Become Unnatural, As It Were, Disliked The Earth Upon Which He Found Himself, And Changed The Face Of It Somewhat To His Liking.

But Under It All They Were Men, Penetrating The Land Of Desolation And Mockery And Silence, Puny Adventurers Bent On Colossal Adventure, Pitting Themselves Against The Might Of A World As Remote And Alien And Pulseless As The Abysses Of Space.

A Human Life The Treasure Of The World Cannot Buy; Nor Can It Redeem One Which Is Misspent; Nor Can It Make Full And Complete And Beautiful A Life Which Is Dwarfed And Warped And Ugly.

Life Is So Short. I Would Rather Sing One Song Than Interpret The Thousand.

As For The Primitive, I Hark Back To It Because We Are Still Very Primitive. How Many Thousands Of Years Of Culture, Think You, Have Rubbed And Polished At Our Raw Edges? One Probably; At The Best, No More Than Two. And That Takes Us Back To Screaming Savagery, When, Gross Of Body And Deed, We Drank Blood From The Skulls Of Our Enemies, And Hailed As Highest Paradise The Orgies And Carnage Of Valhalla.