One Gets To The Heart Of The

Kill If You Must, But Never Hate: Man Is But Grass And Hate Is Blight, The Sun Will Scorch You Soon Or Late, Die Wholesome Then, Since You Must Fight

Nine-tenths Of English Poetic Literature Is The Result Either Of Vulgar Careerism Or Of A Poet Trying To Keep His Hand In. Most Poets Are Dead By Their Late Twenties.

To Recommend A Monarchy On Account Of The Prosperity It Gives The Provinces Seems To Me Like Recommending That A Man Should Have Liberty To Treat His Children As Slaves, If At The Same Time He Treats His Slaves With Reasonable Consideration.

One Gets To The Heart Of The Matter By A Series Of Experiences In The Same Pattern, But In Different Colors.

We Forget Cruelty And Past Betrayal, Heedless Of Where The Next Bright Bolt May Fall.