Death Has A Hundred Hands And Walks

We Have All Our Private Terrors, Our Particular Shadows, Our Secret Fears. We Are Afraid In A Fear Which We Cannot Face, Which None Understands, And Our Hearts Are Torn From Us, Our Brains Unskinned Like The Layers Of An Onion, Ourselves The Last.

I Love Reading Another Reader’s List Of Favorites. Even When I Find I Do Not Share Their Tastes Or Predilections, I Am Provoked To Compare, Contrast, And Contradict. It Is A Most Healthy Exercise, And One Altogether Fruitful.

No Generation Is Interested In Art In Quite The Same Way As Any Other; Each Generation, Like Each Individual, Brings To The Contemplation Of Art Its Own Categories Of Appreciation, Makes Its Own Demands Upon Art, And Has Its Own Uses For Art.

I Do Not Approve The Extermination Of The Enemy; The Policy Of Exterminating Or, As It Is Barbarously Said, Liquidating Enemies, Is One Of The Most Alarming Developments Of Modern War And Peace, From The Point Of View Of Those Who Desire The Survival

Can We Only Love Something Created In Our Own Imaginations?