Love's A Disease. But Curable.

The Impulse To Ask Questions Is Among The More Primitive Human Lusts.

You Point Out That War Is Only A Symptom Of The Whole Horrid Business Of Human Behavior, And Cannot Be Isolated. And That, Even If We Abolish War, We Shall Not Abolish Hate And Greed. So Might It Have Been Argued About Slave Emancipation, That Slavery Was But One Aspect Of Human Disgustingness, And That To Abolish It Would Not End The Barbarity That Causes It. But Did The Abolitionists Therefore Waste Their Breath? And Do We Waste Ours Now In Protesting Against War?

Once You Get To Know Your Neighbors, You Are No Longer Free, You Are All Tangled Up, You Have To Stop And Speak When You Are Out And You Never Feel Safe When You Are In.

Still I Sojourn Here, Alone And Palely Loitering, Though The Sedge Is Withered From The Lake And No Birds Sing. For I Sent The Bath Towel To The Wash This Morning, And Omitted To Put Out Another. I Have No Towel.

All Sorts Of Articles And Letters Appear In The Papers About Women. Profound Questions Are Raised Concerning Them. Should They Smoke? Should They Work? Vote? Marry? Exist? Are Not Their Skirts Too Short, Or Their Sleeves? Have They A Sense Of Humor, Of Honor, Of Direction? Are Spinsters Superfluous? But How Seldom Similar Inquiries Are Propounded About Men.