War Is A Specific Product Of Civilization.

In Its Revolt Against Congestion And Sordor, A Space-hungry Generation Has, I Fear, Developed Eyes That Are Bigger Than Its Stomach.

Henceforward, I Shout To The Heavens, I Shall Deliver No More Lectures On Behalf Of Good Causes: I Am The Good Cause That Denies The Need For Such Lectures. Avaunt, Importuning World! Back To My Cell.

In War, The Army Is Not Merely A Pure Consumer, But A Negative Producer.

What Was Once Called The Objective World Is A Sort Of Rorschach Ink Blot, Into Which Each Culture, Each System Of Science And Religion, Each Type Of Personality, Reads A Meaning Only Remotely Derived From The Shape And Color Of The Blot Itself

The Vast Material Displacements The Machine Has Made In Our Physical Environment Are Perhaps In The Long Run Less Important Than Its Spiritual Contributions To Our Culture.