No Absolute Is Going To Make The

We Have To Hate Our Immediate Predecessors, To Get Free From Their Authority.

Death Is The Only Pure, Beautiful Conclusion Of A Great Passion.

What Sex Is, We Don't Know, But It Must Be Some Sort Of Fire. For It Always Communicates A Sense Of Warmth, Of Glow. And When This Glow Becomes A Pure Shine, Then We Feel The Sense Of Beauty. We All Have The Fire Of Sex Slumbering Or Burning Inside Us. If We Live To Be Ninety, It Is Still There. Or, If It Dies, We Become One Of Those Ghastly Living Corpses Which Are Unfortunately Becoming More Numerous In The World.

Men Are Free When They Belong To A Living, Organic, Believing Community, Active In Fulfilling Some Unfulfilled, Perhaps Unrealized Purpose.

One Could Laugh At The World Better If It Didn't Mix Tender Kindliness With Its Brutality.