I Believe In The Compelling Power Of

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

It Isn't Myself That's Important In This Transaction Apparently; The Individual Doesn't Count Much In The Situation...all Of Us Are More Or Less Pawns. We're Moved About Like Chessmen By Circumstances Over Which We Have No Control.

We Who Feel That Justice Is Not Being Done Have But One Thing To Do: That Is Fight, By Argument, By Example, By Insistence On Fair Play Wherever We Have The Power To Do So. The Rest Is In The Hands Of The Lord, Or Nature, Which Swings, Apparently, From One Extreme To Another.

I Acknowledge The Furies. I Believe In Them. I Have Heard The Disastrous Beating Of Their Wings.

If I Were Personally To Define Religion, I Would Say That It Is A Bandage That Man Has Invented To Protect A Soul Made Bloody By Circustance.