Just Spunk Won't Be Enough; You've Got

And Somewhat As In Blind Night, On A Mild Sea, A Sailor May Be Made Aware Of An Iceberg, Fanged And Mortal, Bearing Invisibly Near, By The Unwarned Charm Of Its Breath, Nothingness Now Revealed Itself: That Permanent Night Upon Which The Stars In Their Expiring Generations Are Less Than The Glinting Of Gnats, And Nebulae, More Trivial Than Winter Breath; That Darkness In Which Eternity Lies Bent And Pale, A Dead Snake In A Jar, And Infinity Is The Sparkling Of A Wren Blown Out To Sea; That Inconceivable Chasm Of Invulnerable Silence In Which Cataclysms Of Galaxies Rave Mute As Amber.

In Every Child Who Is Born, No Matter What Circumstances, And Of No Matter What Parents, The Potentiality Of The Human Race Is Born Again: And In Him, Too, Once More, And Of Each Of Us, Our Terrific Responsibility Toward Human Life; Toward The Utmost Idea Of Goodness, Of The Horror Of Terror, And Of God.

I Know The Most Important Faculty To Develop Is One For Hard, Continuous And Varied Work And Living; But The Difference Between Knowing This And Doing Anything Consistent About It Is Often Abysmal.

I Know I Am Making The Choice Most Dangerous To An Artist In Valuing Life Above Art.

Truth Lies Within A Little And Certain Compass, But Error Is Immense.