War Is Only A Cowardly Escape From

This Was Love At First Sight, Love Everlasting: A Feeling Unknown, Unhoped For, Unexpected--in So Far As It Could Be A Matter Of Conscious Awareness; It Took Entire Possession Of Him, And He Understood, With Joyous Amazement, That This Was For Life.

It Is Remarkable How A Man Cannot Summarize His Thoughts In Even The Most General Sort Of Way Without Betraying Himself Completely, Without Putting His Whole Self Into It, Quite Unawares, Presenting As If In Allegory The Basic Themes And Problems Of His Life.

A Lonely, Quiet Person Has Observations And Experiences That Are At Once Both More Indistinct And More Penetrating Than Those Of One More Gregarious; His Thoughts Are Weightier, Stranger, And Never Without A Tinge Of Sadness. . . . Loneliness Fosters That Which Is Original, Daringly And Bewilderingly Beautiful, Poetic. But Loneliness Also Fosters That Which Is Perverse, Incongruous, Absurd, Forbidden.

No Man Remains Quite What He Was When He Recognizes Himself.

Isn't It Grand, Isn't It Good, That Language Has Only One Word For Everything We Associate With Love - From Utter Sanctity To The Most Fleshly Lust? The Result Is Perfect Clarity In Ambiguity, For Love Cannot Be Disembodied Even In Its Most Sanctified Forms, Nor Is It Without Sanctity Even At Its Most Fleshly. Love Is Always Simply Itself, Both As A Subtle Affirmation Of Life And As The Highest Passion; Love Is Our Sympathy With Organic Life.