Everything Intercepts Us From Ourselves.

As Long As Civilization Is Essentially One Of Property, Of Fences, Of Exclusiveness, It Will Be Mocked By Delusions. Our Riches Will Leave Us Sick; There Will Be Bitterness In Our Laughter, And Our Wine Will Burn Our Mouth. Only That Good Profits Which We Can Taste With All Doors Open, And Which Serves All Men.

It Has Come To Be Practically A Sort Of Rule In Literature That A Man, Having Once Shown Himself Capable Of Original Writing, Is Entitled Thenceforth To Steal From The Writings Of Others At Discretion.

When Nature Has Work To Be Done, She Creates A Genius To Do It.

No Hope So Bright But Is The Beginning Of Its Own Fulfilment.

All The Tools And Engines On Earth Are Only Extensions Of Man's Limbs And Senses.