Literature Tells Very Little To Those Who

I Am Unpacking My Library. Yes I Am. The Books Are Not Yet On The Shelves, Not Yet Touched By The Mild Boredom Of Order.

Like Ultraviolet Rays Memory Shows To Each Man In The Book Of Life A Script That Invisibly And Prophetically Glosses The Text.

He Who Asks Fortune-tellers The Future Unwittingly Forfeits An Inner Intimation Of Coming Events That Is A Thousand Times More Exact Than Anything They May Say.

The Messiah Comes Not Only As The Redeemer, He Comes As The Subduer Of Antichrist. Only That Historian Will Have The Gift Of Fanning The Spark Of Hope In The Past Who Is Firmly Convinced That Even The Dead Will Not Be Safe From The Enemy If He Wins. And This Enemy Has Not Ceased To Be Victorious.

The Destructive Character Knows Only One Watchword: Make Room. And Only One Activity: Clearing Away. The Destructive Character Is Young And Cheerful. For Destroying Rejuvenates, Because It Clears Away The Traces Of Our Own Age; It Cheers, Because Everything Cleared Away Means To The Destroyer A Complete Reduction, Indeed A Rooting Out, Of His Own Condition.