Shake Your Business Up And Pour It.

Under The Thinning Fog The Surf Curled And Creamed, Almost Without Sound, Like A Thought Trying To Form Inself On The Edge Of Consciousness.

It Was A Blonde. A Blonde To Make A Bishop Kick A Hole In A Stained-glass Window.

I Don’t Mind If You Don’t Like My Manners. They’re Pretty Bad. I Grieve Over Them During The Long Winter Evenings.

The Motion Picture Is Like A Picture Of A Lady In A Half-piece Bathing Suit. If She Wore A Few More Clothes, You Might Be Intrigued. If She Wore No Clothes At All, You Might Be Shocked. But The Way It Is, You Are Occupied With Noticing That Her Knees Are Too Bony And That Her Toenails Are Too Large. The Modern Film Tries Too Hard To Be Real. Its Techniques Of Illusion Are So Perfect That It Requires No Contribution From The Audience But A Mouthful Of Popcorn.

There Are Two Kinds Of Truth; The Truth That Lights The Way And The Truth That Warms The Heart. The First Of These Is Science, And The Second Is Art. Without Art Science Would Be As Useless As A Pair Of High Forceps In The Hands Of A Plumber. Without Science Art Would Become A Crude Mess Of Folklore And Emotional Quackery.