I Liked Human Beings, But I Did

Nothingis So Ungrateful As A Rising Generation; Yet, If There Is Any Faintest Glimmer Of Light Ahead Of Us In The Present, Itwas Kindled By The Intellectual Fires That Burned Long Before Us.

Although The Primitive In Art May Be Both Interesting And Impressive, As Portrayed In American Fiction It Is Conspicuous For Dullness Alone. Drab Persons Living Drab Lives, Observed By Drab Minds And Reported In Drab Writing.

The Share Of The Sympathetic Publisher In The Author's Success - The True Success So Different From The Ephemeral - Is Apt To Be Overlooked In These Blatant Days, So It Is Just As Well That Some Of Us Should Keep It In Mind.

Only On The Surface Of Things Have I Ever Trod The Beaten Path. So Long As I Could Keep From Hurting Anyone Else, I Have Lived, As Completely As It Was Possible, The Life Of My Choice. I Have Been Free. . . . I Have Done The Work I Wished To Do For The Sake Of That Work Alone.

Life May Take Away Happiness. But It Can't Take Away Having Had It.