If Ever The Public Was Betrayed By

The Secret Of The Man Who Is Universally Interesting Is That He Is Universally Interested.

Is It Worth While To Observe That There Are No Venetian Blinds In Venice?

Each One Of Us Must Suffer Long To Himself Before He Can Learn That He Is But One In A Great Community Of Wretchedness Which Has Been Pitilessly Repeating Itself From The Foundation Of The World.

It Is The Still, Small Voice That The Soul Heeds, Not The Deafening Blasts Of Doom.

The Swelling And Towering Omnibuses, The Huge Trucks And Wagons And Carriages, The Impetuous Hansoms And The More Sobered Four-wheelers, The Pony-carts, Donkey-carts, Hand-carts, And Bicycles Which Fearlessly Find Their Way Amidst The Turmoil, With Foot-passengers Winding In And Out, And Covering The Sidewalks With Their Multitude, Give The Effect Of A Single Monstrous Organism, Which Writhes Swiftly Along The Channel Where It Had Run In The Figure Of A Flood Till You Were Tired Of That Metaphor. You Are Now A Molecule Of That Vast Organism.