At The Worst, A House Unkept Cannot

The Ascendancy Over Men's Minds Of The Ruins Of The Stupendous Past, The Past Of History, Legend And Myth, At Once Factual And Fantastic, Stretching Back And Back Into Ages That Can But Be Surmised, Is Half-mystical In Basis. The Intoxication, At Once So Heady And So Devout, Is Not The Romantic Melancholy Engendered By Broken Towers And Mouldered Stones; It Is The Soaring Of The Imagination Into The High Empyrean Where Huge Episodes Are Tangled With Myths And Dreams; It Is The Stunning Impact Of World History On Its Amazed Heirs.

News Is Like Food: It Is The Cooking And Serving That Makes It Acceptable, Not The Material Itself.

The Manuscript May Go Forth From The Writer To Return With A Faithfulness Passing The Faithfulness Of The Boomerang Or The Homing Pigeon.

Life Is One Long Struggle To Disinter Oneself, To Keep One's Head Above The Accumulations, The Ever Deepening Layers Of Objects ... Which Attempt To Cover One Over, Steadily, Almost Irresistibly, Like Falling Snow.

Never Approach A Friend's Wife Or Girlfriend With Mischief As Your Goal... Unless She's Really Attractive.