I Would Rather Be Ashes Than Dust.

The Proper Function Of Man Is To Live, Not To Exist. I Shall Not Waste My Days In Trying To Prolong Them. I Shall Use My Time.

You Have Grudged The Very Fire In Your House Because The Wood Cost Overmuch!" He Cried. "you Have Grudged Life. To Live Cost Overmuch, And You Have Refused To Pay The Price. Your Life Has Been Like A Cabin Where The Fire Is Out And There Are No Blankets On The Floor." He Signaled To A Slave To Fill His Glass, Which He Held Aloft. "but I Have Lived. And I Have Been Warm With Life As You Have Never Been Warm. It Is True, You Shall Live Long. But The Longest Nights Are The Cold Nights When A Man Shivers And Lies Awake. My Nights Have Been Short, But I Have Slept Warm

Pray Do Not Interrupt Me," He Wrote. "i Am Smiling.

Bog-lights, Vapors Of Mysticism, Psychic Overtones, Soul Orgies, Wailings Among The Shadows, Weird Gnosticisms, Veils And Tissues Of Words, Gibbering Subjectivisms, Gropings And Maunderings, Ontological Fantasies ... This Is The Stuff, The Phantasms Of Hope, That Fills Your Book Shelves. Look At Them, All The Sad Wraiths Of Sad Mad Men And Passionate Rebels — Your Schopenhauers, Your Strindbergs, Your Tolstois And Nietzsches. Come. Your Glass Is Empty. Fill And Forget.

The Greatest Of The Arts Is The Conquering Of Men.