You Cannot Be So Poor That You

The Old Man Has Been Long At The Fair. He Is Acquainted With The Jugglers At The Booths. His Curiosity Has Been Satisfied. He No Longer Cares For The Exceptional, The Monstrous, The Marvelous And Deformed. He Looks Through And Beyond The Gilding, The Glitter And Gloss, Not Only Of Things, But Of Conduct, Of Manners, Theories, Religions And Philosophies. He Sees Clearer. The Light No Longer Shines In His Eyes.

Language Is Not Subtle Enough, Tender Enough, To Express All That We Feel; And When Language Fails, The Highest And Deepest Longings Are Translated Into Music. Music Is The Sunshine - The Climate - Of The Soul, And It Floods The Heart With A Perfect June.

In All Ages The People Have Honored Those Who Dishonored Them. They Have Worshiped Their Destroyers; They Have Canonized The Most Gigantic Liars, And Buried The Great Thieves In Marble And Gold. Under The Loftiest Monuments Sleeps The Dust Of Murder.

No One Can Control His Own Opinion Or His Own Belief. My Belief Was Forced Upon Me By My Surroundings. I Am The Product Of All Circumstances That Have In Any Way Touched Me.

No God Can Put A Man In Hell In Another World, Who Has Made A Little Heaven In This. God Cannot Make A Man Miserable If That Man Has Made Somebody Else Happy.