Any Order Is A Balancing Act Of

Our Image Of Happiness Is Indissolubly Bound Up With The Image Of The Past.

Capitalism Is A Purely Cultic Religion, Perhaps The Most Extreme That Ever Existed.

Every Passion Borders On The Chaotic, But The Collector's Passion Borders On The Chaos Of Memories.

He Who Asks Fortune-tellers The Future Unwittingly Forfeits An Inner Intimation Of Coming Events That Is A Thousand Times More Exact Than Anything They May Say. He Is Impelled By Inertia, Rather Than Curiosity, And Nothing Is More Unlike The Submissive Apathy With Which He Hears His Fate Revealed Than The Alert Dexterity With Which The Man Of Courage Lays Hands On The Future.

The Idea That Happiness Could Have A Share In Beauty Would Be Too Much Of A Good Thing.