Patriotism Is The Religion Of Hell.

I Fight Against The Gluttony Of Time With So Many Very Amusing Weapons With Gestures And With Three Attitudes And With Charming Phrases; With Tears And With Tinsel, And With Sugar-coated Pills, And With Platitudes Slightly Regilded. Yes, And I Fight Him Also With Little Mirrors Wherein Gleam Confusedly The Corruptions Of Lust, And Ruddy Loyalty, And A Bit Of Moonshine, And The Pure Diamond Of The Heart's Desire, And The Opal Cloudings Of Human Compromise: But, Above All, I Fight That Ravening Dotard With The Strength Of My Own Folly.

While It Is Well Enough To Leave Footprints On The Sands Of Time, It Is Even More Important To Make Sure They Point In A Commendable Direction.

Everything In Life Is Miraculous. For The Sigil Taught Me That It Rests Within The Power Of Each Of Us To Awaken Atwill From A Dragging Nightmare Of Life Made Up Of Unimportant Tasks And Tedious Useless Little Habits, To See Life As It Really Is, And To Rejoice In Its Exquisite Wonderfulness.

Time Changes All Things And Cultivates Even In Herself An Appreciation Of Irony, And, Therefore, Why Shouldn't I Have Changed A Trifle?

The Optimist Sees A Light At The End Of The Tunnel, The Realist Sees A Train Entering The Tunnel, The Pessimist Sees A Train Speeding At Him, Hell For Leather, And The Machinist Sees Three Idiots Sitting On The Rail Track. "the Optimist Proclaims That We Live In The Best Of All Possible Worlds; The Pessimist Fears This Is True."