How Dismal Is Progress Without Publicity.

I Believe In The Compelling Power Of Love.

Our Civilization Is Still In A Middle Stage, Scarcely Beast, In That It Is No Longer Wholly Guided By Instinct; Scarcely Human, In That It Is Not Yet Wholly Guided By Reason.

Art Is The Stored Honey Of The Human Soul, Gathered On Wings Of Misery And Travail.

Life Is A God-damned, Stinking, Treacherous Game And Nine Hundred And Ninety-nine Men Out Of A Thousand Are Bastards.

Let No One Underestimate The Need Of Pity. We Live In A Stony Universe Whose Hard, Brilliant Forces Rage Fiercely.