Guilt Is A Rope That Wears Thin.

When She Had Gone Upstairs, He Walked To A Window And Stood Looking Up At The Sky. His Head Thrown Back, He Felt The Pull Of His Throat Muscles And He Wondered Whether The Peculiar Solemnity Of Looking At The Sky Comes, Not From What One Contemplates, But From That Uplift Of One's Head.

Two World Wars, Three Monstrous Dictatorships-in Soviet Russia, Nazi Germany, Red China-plus Every Lesser Variant Of Devastating Socialist Experimentation In A Global Spread Of Brutality And Despair, Have Not Prompted Modern Intellectuals To Question Or Revise Their Dogma. They Still Think That It Is Daring, Idealistic And Unconventional To Denounce The Rich. They Still Believe That Money Is The Root Of All Evil-except Government Money, Which Is The Solution To All Problems.

A Spirit, Too, Needs Fuel. It Can Run Dry.

If Men Want To Oppose War, It Is Statism That They Must Oppose.

She Fell Asleep, Lying There, Her Hand Clasping His. Her Last Awareness, Before She Surrendered The Responsibility Of Consciousness, Was The Sense Of An Enormous Void, The Void Of A City And Of A Continent, Where She Would Never Be Able To Find The Man Whom She Had No Right To Seek.