No Individual Is Isolated. He Who Is

It Is The Duty Of The Ship's Captain To Make Port, Cost What It May.

What Torments Me Is Not The Humps Nor Hollows Nor The Ugliness. It Is The Sight, A Little Bit In All These Men, Of Mozart Murdered.

The Machine Does Not Isolate Man From The Great Problems Of Nature But Plunges Him More Deeply Into Them.

Action And Personal Happiness Have No Truck With Each Other; They Are Eternally At War.

Each Man Must Look To Himself To Teach Him The Meaning Of Life. It Is Not Something Discovered: It Is Something Molded.