Genius Has No Taste For Weaving Sand.

Spurious Prudence, Making The Senses Final, Is The God Of Sots And Cowards, And Is The Subject Of All Comedy. It Is Nature's Joke, And Therefore Literature's. True Prudence Limits This Sensualism By Admitting The Knowledge Of An Internal And Real World.

The Religions We Call False Were Once True.

The World Is His Who Has Money To Go Over It.

Language Is The Archives Of History.

The Power Of Love, As The Basis Of A State, Has Never Been Tried.