A Man Never Sees All That His

The Mortality Of All Inanimate Things Is Terrible To Me, But That Of Books Most Of All.

It Is The Curse Of Prosperity That It Takes Work Away From Us, And Shuts That Door To Hope And Health Of Spirit.

By Beauty Of Course I Mean Truth, For The One Involves The Other; It Is Only The False In Art Which Is Ugly, And It Is Only The Ugly That Is Universal.

Why Art Thou But A Nest Of Gloom While The Bobolinks Are Singing?

Each One Of Us Must Suffer Long To Himself Before He Can Learn That He Is But One In A Great Community Of Wretchedness Which Has Been Pitilessly Repeating Itself From The Foundation Of The World.