He Was A Killer, A Thing That

Mental Or Spiritual Health, Which Is Rationality, Makes For Progress, And The Future Demands Greater And Greater Mental Or Spiritual Health, Greater And Greater Rationality. The Brain Must Dominate And Direct Both The Individual And Society In The Time To Come, Not The Belly And The Heart.

Cruelty, As A Fine Art, Has Attained Its Perfect Flower In The Trained-animal World.

Love Is The Sum Of All The Arts, As It Is The Reason For Their Existence.

Somehow, The Love Of The Islands, Like The Love Of A Woman, Just Happens. One Cannot Determine In Advance To Love A Particular Woman, Nor Can One So Determine To Love Hawaii.

There Is An Ecstasy That Marks The Summit Of Life, And Beyond Which Life Cannot Rise. And Such Is The Paradox Of Living, This Ecstasy Comes When One Is Most Alive, And It Comes As A Complete Forgetfulness That One Is Alive. This Ecstasy, This Forgetfulness Of Living, Comes To The Artist, Caught Up And Out Of Himself In A Sheet Of Flame; It Comes To The Soldier, War-mad In A Stricken Field And Refusing Quarter; And It Came To Buck, Leading The Pack, Sounding The Old Wolf-cry, Straining After The Food That Was Alive And That Fled Swiftly Before Him Through The Moonlight.