The Printed Page Was Like Wine To

There Comes, Even To Kings, The Time Of Great Weariness. Then The Gold Of The Throne Is Brass, The Silk Of The Palace Becomes Drab. The Gems In The Diadem And Upon The Fingers Of The Women Sparkle Drearily Like The Ice Of White Seas; The Speech Of Men Is As The Empty Rattle Of A Jester's Bell And The Feel Comes Of Things Unreal; Even The Sun Is Copper In The Sky And The Breath Of The Green Ocean Is No Longer Fresh.

Animals Are Neither Gods Nor Fiends, But Men In Their Way Without The Lust And Greed Of Man.

Life Is But A Web Spun Of Ghosts And Dreams And Illusions.

I'll Say One Thing About An Oil Boom; It Will Teach A Kid That Life's A Pretty Rotten Thing As Quick As Anything I Can Think Of.

Civilized Men Are More Discourteous Than Savages Because They Know They Can Be Impolite Without Having Their Skulls Split, As A General Thing.