All Our "most Sacred Affections " Are

Reality Is A Prison, Where One Vegetates And Always Will. All The Rest - Thought, Action - Is Just A Pastime, Mental Or Physical. What Counts Then, Is To Come To Grips With Reality. The Rest Can Go.

No Matter How Much A Young Man Likes To Think For Himself, He Is Always Trying To Model Himself On Some Abstract Pattern Largely Derived From The Example Of The World Around Him. And A Man, No Matter How Conservative, Shows His Own Worth By His Personal Deviation From That Pattern.

I Am The Captain Of My Destiny, I Do Not Abandon The Ship In Hard Times, But, I Do Have Sense Enough Not To Go Down With The Ship.

The Closing Years Of Life Are Like The End Of A Masquerade Party, When The Masks Are Dropped.

The Face Of The Night Will Be An Old Wound That Reopens Each Evening, Impassive And Living. The Distant Silence Will Ache Like A Soul, Mute, In The Dark. We'll Speak To The Night As It's Whispering Softly.