Patriotism Is The Religion Of Hell.

I Do That Which I Do In Every Place. Here Also, At The Gateway Of That Garden Into Which Time Has Not Entered, I Fight With Time My Ever-losing Battle, Because To Do That Diverts Me.

People Must Have Both Their Dreams And Their Dinners In This World, And When We Go Out Of It We Must Take What We Find. That Is All.

Good And Evil Keep Very Exact Accounts... And The Face Of Every Man Is Their Ledger.

But With Man The Case Is Otherwise, In That When Logic Leads To Any Humiliating Conclusion, The Sole Effect Is To Discredit Logic.

I Fight Against The Gluttony Of Time With So Many Very Amusing Weapons With Gestures And With Three Attitudes And With Charming Phrases; With Tears And With Tinsel, And With Sugar-coated Pills, And With Platitudes Slightly Regilded. Yes, And I Fight Him Also With Little Mirrors Wherein Gleam Confusedly The Corruptions Of Lust, And Ruddy Loyalty, And A Bit Of Moonshine, And The Pure Diamond Of The Heart's Desire, And The Opal Cloudings Of Human Compromise: But, Above All, I Fight That Ravening Dotard With The Strength Of My Own Folly.