Nothing Written For Pay Is Worth Printing.

The Flavors Of The Peach And The Apricot Are Not Lost From Generation To Generation, Neither Are They Transmitted By Book Learning. The Mystic Tradition, Any Mystic Tradition, Is Of A Similar Nature, That Is, It Is Dependent On Direct Perception, A 'knowledge' As Permanent As The Faculty For Receiving It.

Bureaucrats Are A Pox. They Are Supposed To Be Necessary. Certain Chemicals In The Body Are Supposed To Be Necessary To Life, But Cause Death The Moment They Increase Beyond A Suitable Limit

The Garden En Robe De Parade. - Samain Like A Skein Of Loose Silk Blown Against A Wall She Walks By The Railing Of A Path In Kensington Gardens, And She Is Dying Piece-meal Of A Sort Of Emotional Anaemia. And Round About There Is A Rabble Of The Filthy, Sturdy, Unkillable Infants Of The Very Poor. They Shall Inherit The Earth. In Her Is The End Of Breeding. Her Boredom Is Exquisite And Excessive. She Would Like Some One To Speak To Her, And Is Almost Afraid That I Will Commit That Indiscretion.

Better Mendacities Than The Classics In Paraphrase! Some Quick To Arm, Some For Adventure, Some From Fear Of Weakness, Some From Fear Of Censure, Some For Love Of Slaughter, In Imagination, Learning Later . . . Some In Fear, Learning Love Of Slaughter; Died Some, Pro Patria, Non "dulce" Non "et Decor" . Walked Eye-deep In Hell Believing In Old Men's Lies, The Unbelieving Came Home, Home To A Lie.

This Is No Book. Whoever Touches This Touches A Man.