Even The Youngest Of Us May Be

When The World Goes Mad, One Must Accept Madness As Sanity; Since Sanity Is, In The Last Analysis, Nothing But The Madness On Which The Whole World Happens To Agree.

Though The Life Force Supplies Us With Its Own Purpose, It Has No Other Brains To Work With Than Those It Has Painfully And Imperfectly Evolved In Our Heads.

The Man With A Toothache Thinks Everyone Happy Whose Teeth Are Sound. The Poverty-stricken Man Makes The Same Mistake About The Rich Man.

With The Single Exception Of Homer, There Is No Eminent Writer, Not Even Sir Walter Scott, Whom I Can Despise So Entirely As I Despise Shakespeare When I Measure My Mind Against His. . . . It Would Positively Be A Relief To Me To Dig Him Up And Throw Stones At Him.

Besides, Do Any Of Us Understand What We Are Doing? If We Did, Would We Ever Do It?