The Summer Of 1943 At Exeter Was

I Felt That I Was Not, Never Had Been And Never Would Be A Living Part Of This Overpoweringly Solid And Deeply Meaningful World Around Me.

The Next Major Advance In The Health Of The American People Will Be Determined By What The Individual Is Willing To Do For Himself.

Nothing Endures. Not A Tree. Not Love. Not Even Death By Violence.

Everyone Has A Moment In History Which Belongs Particularly To Him. It Is The Moment When His Emotions Achieve Their Most Powerful Sway Over Him, And Afterward When You Say To This Person "the World Today" Or "life" Or "reality" He Will Assume That You Mean This Moment, Even If It Is Fifty Years Past. The World, Through His Unleashed Emotions, Imprinted Itself Upon Him, And He Carries The Stamp Of That Passing Moment Forever.

Sarcasm Is The Protest Of The Weak.