The Man Who Has Ceased To Fear

Another Occupation Might Have Been Better.

The Self Has Turned Out To Mean So Many Things, To Mean Them So Ambiguously, And To Be So Wavering In Its Application, That We Do Not Feel Encouraged.

One Said Of Suicide, As Long As One Has Brains One Should Not Blow Them Out. And Another Answered, But When One Has Ceased To Have Them, Too Often One Cannot.

The Secret Of Happiness Is To Admire Without Desiring. And That Is Not Happiness.

Our Live Experiences, Fixed In Aphorisms, Stiffen Into Cold Epigrams. Our Heart's Blood, As We Write It, Turns To Mere Dull Ink.