Perfect Purity Is Possible If You Turn

I Had Long Since Insisted Upon Interpreting The Things That Fate Forced Me To Do As Victories Of My Own Will And Intelligence, And Now This Bad Habit Had Grown Into A Sort Of Frenzied Arrogance. In The Nature Of What I Was Calling My Intelligence There Was A Touch Of Something Illegitimate, A Touch Of The Sham Pretender Who Has Been Placed On The Throne By Some Freak Chance. This Dolt Of A Usurper Could Not Foresee The Revenge That Would Inevitably Be Wreaked Upon His Stupid Despotism.

To See Human Beings In Agony, To See Them Covered In Blood And To Hear Their Death Groans, Makes People Humble. It Makes Their Spirits Delicate, Bright, Peaceful. It's Never At Such Times That We Become Cruel Or Bloodthirsty. No, It's On A Beautiful Spring Afternoon Like This That People Suddenly Become Cruel. It's At A Moment Like This, Don't You Think, While One's Vaguely Watching The Sun As It Peeps Through The Leaves Of The Trees Above A Well-mown Lawn? Every Possible Nightmare In The World, Every Possible Nightmare In History, Has Come Into Being Like This.

The Cynicism That Regards Hero Worship As Comical Is Always Shadowed By A Sense Of Physical Inferiority

Beyond Doubt, There Was A Certain Splendor In Pain, Which Bore A Deep Affinity To The Splendor That Lies Hidden Within Strength.

Within Those Confining Walls, Teachers - A Bunch Of Men All Armed With The Same Information - Gave The Same Lectures Every Year From The Same Notebooks And Every Year At The Same Point In The Textbooks Made The Same Jokes.