Any Man Worth His Salt Has By

Truth And Beauty (perhaps Keats Was Wrong In Identifying Them: Perhaps They Have The Relation Of Wit And Humour, Or Rain And Rainbow) Are Of Interest Only To Hungry People. There Are Several Kinds Of Hunger. If Socrates, Spinoza, And Santayana Had Had Free Access To A Midnight Icebox We Would Never Have Heard Of Them. Shall I Be Ashamed Of My Little Mewing Truths?... I Ask To Be Forgiven: They Are Such Tiny Ones.

My Prayer Is That What We Have Gone Through [world War One] Will Startle The World Into Some New Realization Of The Sanctity Of Life, Animal As Well As Human.

No One Appreciates The Very Special Genius Of Your Conversation As The Dog Does.

The Real Purpose Of Books Is To Trap The Mind Into Doing Its Own Thinking.

Continually One Faces The Horrible Matter Of Making Decisions. The Solution Is, As Far As Possible, To Avoid Conscious Rational Decisions And Choices; Simply To Do What You Find Yourself Doing; To Float In The Great Current Of Life With As Little Friction As Possible; To Allow Things To Settle Themselves, As Indeed They Do With The Most Infallible Certainty.