There Is Nothing- No Life, No Joy,

Tell Her This And More,— That The King Of The Seas Weeps Too, Old, Helpless Man. The Bustling Fates Heap His Hands With Corpses Until He Stands Like A Child With Surplus Of Toys.

These Stupid Peasants, Who, Throughout The World, Hold Potentates On Their Thrones, Make Statesmen Illustrious, Provide Generals With Lasting Victories, All With Ignorance, Indifference, Or Half-witted Hatred, Moving The World With The Strength Of Their Arms, And Getting Their Heads Knocked Together In The Name Of God, The King, Or The Stock Exchange-immortal, Dreaming, Hopeless Asses, Who Surrender Their Reason To The Care Of A Shining Puppet, And Persuade Some Toy To Carry Their Lives In His Purse.

It Perhaps Might Be Said--if Any One Dared--that The Most Worthless Literature Of The World Has Been That Which Has Been Written By The Men Of One Nation Concerning The Men Of Another.

Think As I Think," Said A Man, "or You Are Abominably Wicked; You Are A Toad." And After I Thought Of It, I Said, "i Will, Then, Be A Toad.

If I Am Going To Be Drowned – If I Am Going To Be Drowned – If I Am Going To Be Drowned, Why In The Name Of The Seven Mad Gods Who Rule The Sea, Was I Allowed To Come Thus Far And Contemplate Land And Trees?