Everything Is Good . . . As

His Bondage Had Softened Him. Irresponsibility Had Weakened Him. He Had Forgotten How To Shift For Himself. The Night Yawned About Him.

The Ghostly Winter Silence Had Given Way To The Great Spring Murmur Of Awakening Life.

Limited Minds Can Recognize Limitations Only In Others.

Had The Cub Thought In Man-fashion, He Might Have Epitomized Life As A Voracious Appetite, And The World As A Place Wherein Ranged A Multitude Of Appetites, Pursuing And Being Pursued, Hunting And Being Hunted, Eating And Being Eaten, All In Blindness And Confusion, With Violence And Disorder, A Chaos Of Gluttony And Slaughter, Ruled Over By Chance, Merciless, Planless, Endless.

I Am First Of All A White Man, And Only Then A Socialist.