All Great Art Is Born Of The

There Are Few Things More Difficult Than To Appraise The Work Of A Man Suddenly Dead In His Youth; To Disentangle Promise From Achievement; To Save Him From That Sentimentalizing Which Confuses The Tragedy Of The Interruption With The Merit Of The Work Actually Performed.

My Pawing Over The Ancients And Semi-ancients Has Been One Struggle To Find Out What Has Been Done, Once And For All, Better Than It Can Ever Be Done Again, And To Find Out What Remains For Us To Do, And Plenty Does Remain, For If We Still Feel The Same Emotions As Those Who Launched A Thousand Ships, It Is Quite Certain That We Came On These Feelings Differently, Through Different Nuances, By Different Intellectual Gradations. Each Age Has Its Own Abounding Gifts Yet Only Some Ages Transmute Them Into Matters Of Duration.

Usury Is The Cancer Of The World, Which Only The Surgeon’s Knife Of Fascism Can Cut Out Of The Life Of The Nations.

The Flavors Of The Peach And The Apricot Are Not Lost From Generation To Generation. Neither Are They Transmitted By Book Learning.

Discoveries Are Made By Gluttons And Addicts. The Man Who Forgets To Eat And Sleep Has An Appetite For Fact, For Interrelations Among Causes.