I Am Nobody But Myself.

Life Is As The Sea, Art A Ship In Which Man Conquers Life's Crushing Formlessness, Reducing It To A Course, A Series Of Swells, Tides And Wind Currents Inscribed On A Chart.

At Best Americans Give But A Limited Attention To History. Too Much Happens Too Rapidly, And Before We Can Evaluate It, Or Exhaust Its Meaning Or Pleasure, There Is Something New To Concern Us. Ours Is The Tempo Of The Motion Picture, Not That Of The Still Camera, And We Waste Experience As We Wasted The Forest.

Everywhere I've Turned Somebody Has Wanted To Sacrifice Me For My Own Good—only /they/ Were The Ones Who Benefited. And Now We Start On The Old Sacrificial Merry-go-round. At What Point Do We Stop?

And My Problem Was That I Always Tried To Go In Everyone's Way But My Own.

Injustice Wears Ever The Same Harsh Face Wherever It Shows Itself.