A Mob Is The Method By Which

Looking Back, I Have This To Regret, That Too Often When I Loved, I Did Not Say So.

Most Of Us Have Collections Of Sayings We Live By. . . . Whenever Words Fly Up At Me From The Printed Page As I Read, I Intercept Them Instantly, Knowing They Are For Me. I Turn Them Over Carefully In My Mind And Cling To Them Hard.

Did You Think You Could Have The Good Without The Evil? Did You Think You Could Have The Joy Without The Sorrow? . . . . I Have Been Thinking Much About Pain. How Could I Help It? . . . . Sooner Or Later, Regardless Of The Wit Of Man, We Have Pain To Face; A Reality; A Final Inescapable, Immutable Fact Of Life. What Poor Souls, If We Have Then No Philosophy To Face It With! This Pain Will Not Last; It Never Has Lasted. I'll Think About What I Am Going To Write Tomorrow-not About Me, Not About My Body.

There Must Be A Technique For Meeting Pain. There Must Be A Technique Of Endurance Based On The Power Of The Soul To Maintain Its Own Serenity, As Marcus Aurelius Taught Long Ago.

It Is Not Short Of Amazing, The Power Of A Great Idea To Weld Men Together. There Was In It A Peculiar, Intense, Vital Spirit If You Will, That I Have Never Felt Before In Any Strike.