Beauty Is The Child Of Love.

Men Who Know Themselves Are No Longer Fools. They Stand On The Threshold Of The Door Of Wisdom.

Dancing As An Art, We May Be Sure, Cannot Die Out, But Will Always Be Undergoing A Rebirth. Not Merely As An Art, But Also As A Social Custom, It Perpetually Emerges Afresh From The Soul Of The People.

All The Art Of Living Lies In A Fine Mingling Of Letting Go And Holding On.

All Progress In Literary Style Lies In The Heroic Resolve To Cast Aside Accretions And Exuberances, All The Conventions Of A Past Age That Were Once Beautiful Because Alive And Are Now False Because Dead.

Mankind Is Becoming A Single Unit, And That For A Unit To Fight Against Itself Is Suicide.