I Am Of Russian-jewish Distraction.

Time Is The School In Which We Learn, Time Is The Fire In Which We Burn.

How The False Truths Of The Years Of Youth Have Passed!have Passed At Full Speed Like Trains Which Never Stoppedthere Where I Stood And Waited, Hardly Aware,how Little I Knew, Or Which Of Them Was The Oneto Mount And Ride To Hope Or Where True Hope Arrives.

Is It Not Clear That A Reviewer's Psyche, Like An Iceberg, Is Seven-eighths Beneath The Surface?

All Literature Is An Effort At The Formal Character Of The Epigram.

Each Minute Bursts In The Burning Room,the Great Globe Reels In The Solar Fire,spinning The Trivial And Unique Away.(how All Things Flash! How All Things Flare!)what Am I Now That I Was Then?may Memory Restore Again And Againthe Smallest Color Of The Smallest Day:time Is The School In Which We Learn,time Is The Fire In Which We Burn.