Every Sin Is The Result Of Collaboration.

The Man Had Arrived At That Stage Of Drunkenness Where Affection Is Felt For The Universe.

It Perhaps Might Be Said--if Any One Dared--that The Most Worthless Literature Of The World Has Been That Which Has Been Written By The Men Of One Nation Concerning The Men Of Another.

When The Suicide Arrived At The Sky, The People There Asked Him: "why?" He Replied: "because No One Admired Me.

When It Came Night, The White Waves Paced To And Fro In The Moonlight, And The Wind Brought The Sound Of The Great Sea's Voice To The Men On Shore, And They Felt That They Could Then Be Interpreters.

The Fact Has Not Created In Me A Sense Of Obligation.