Reviewers Do Not Read Books With Much

For The Serious Artist Does Not Satisfy Needs

Then, Brothers, It Came. Oh, Bliss, Bliss And Heaven. I Lay All Nagoy To The Ceiling, My Gulliver On My Rookers On The Pillow, Glazzies Closed, Rot Open In Bliss, Slooshying The Sluice Of Lovely Sounds. Oh, It Was Gorgeousness And Gorgeosity Made Flesh.

Translation Is Not A Matter Of Words Only: It Is A Matter Of Making Intelligible A Whole Culture.

Evil Has To Exist Along With Good, In Order That Moral Choice May Operate.

We Are Supposed To Be The Children Of Seth; But Seth Is Too Much Of An Effete Nonentity To Deserve Ancestral Regard. No, We Are The Sons Of Cain, And With Violence Can Be Associated The Attacks On Sound, Stone, Wood And Metal That Produced Civilization.