In The End, It Is Upon The

Happiness Is Always A By-product. It Is Probably A Matter Of Temperament, And For Anything I Know It May Be Glandular.

I Think We Should See Whether We Are Wise Trying To Educate Everybody To A High Standard The Way We Are Trying To Do Now. There Has To Be A High Level Of Education So Everybody Is Literate, But Whether University Education Is Necessary For Everyone Is Open To Question.

The Best Among Our Writers Are Doing Their Accustomed Work Of Mirroring What Is Deep In The Spirit Of Our Time; If Chaos Appears In Those Mirrors, We Must Have Faith That In The Future, As Always In The Past, That Chaos Will Slowly Reveal Itself As A New Aspect Of Order.

All Art Is Holy. Not That It Is All Long-faced And Miserable; It Can Be Wild And Wooly. But If It Transforms You, It Is Art. And It Is Holy.

The Pleasures Of Love Are For Those Who Are Hopelessly Addicted To Another Living Creature. The Reasons For Such Addiction Are So Many That I Suspect They Are Never The Same In Any Two Cases. It Includes Passion But Does Not Survive By Passion; It Has Its Whiffs Of The Agreeable Vertigo Of Young Love, But It Is Stable More Often Than Dizzy; It Is A Growing, Changing Thing, And It Is Tactful Enough To Give The Addicted Parties Occasional Rests From Strong And Exhausting Feeling Of Any Kind.