If Ever The Public Was Betrayed By

By Beauty Of Course I Mean Truth, For The One Involves The Other; It Is Only The False In Art Which Is Ugly, And It Is Only The Ugly That Is Universal.

It's A Curious Thing, This Thing We Call Civilization...we Think It Is An Affair Of Epochs, And Nations. It's Really An Affair Of Individuals. One Brother Will Be Civilized And The Other A Barbarian...all Civilization Comes Through Literature Now, Especially In Our Country. A Greek Got His Civilization By Talking And Looking, And In Some Measure A Parisian May Still Do It. But We, Who Live Remote From History And Monuments, We Must Read Or We Must Barbarise.

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

How Is It The Great Pieces Of Good Luck Fall To Us?

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.