The Earlier Works Of A Man Of

Loving Is Almost A Substitute For Thinking. Love Is A Burning Forgetfulness Of All Other Things. How Shall We Ask Passion To Be Logical?

In Saying No To Progress, It Is Not The Future Which They Condemn, But Themselves. They Give Themselves A Melancholy Disease; They Inoculate Themselves With The Past. There Is But One Way Of Refusing Tomorrow, That Is To Die.

The World Of Sleep Has An Existence Of Its Own.

To Learn To Read Is To Light A Fire; Every Syllable That Is Spelled Out Is A Spark.

There Are Many Tongues To Talk, And But Few Heads To Think.