And The Days Are Not Full Enough

A General Loathing Of A Gang Or Sect Usually Has Some Sound Basis In Instinct.

You Have Been Second Always. Tragical? No. You Preferred It To The Usual Thing: One Dull Man, Dulling And Uxorious, One Average Mind- With One Thought Less, Each Year.

Fit For Kings, Formal Gardens Afford An Earthly Elysium And The Odd Impression That We Mere Men Might Actually Control Nature For A Time.

Mass Ought To Be In Latin, Unless You Could Do It In Greek Or Chinese. In Fact, Any Abracadabra That No Bloody Member Of The Public Or Half-educated Ape Of A Clargimint Could Think He Understood.

The Difference Between A Gun And A Tree Is A Difference Of Tempo. The Tree Explodes Every Spring.