Socialism Is Like A Dream. Sooner Or

Here Was A Place Where Real Things Were Going On. Here Was A Scene Of Vital Action. Here Was A Place Where Anything Might Happen. Here Was A Place Where Something Would Certainly Happen. Here I Might Leave My Bones.

My Wife And I Tried Two Or Three Times In The Last 40 Years To Have Breakfast Together, But It Was So Disagreeable We Had To Stop.

The World Looks With Some Awe Upon A Man Who Appears Unconcernedly Indifferent To Home, Money, Comfort, Rank, Or Even Power And Fame. The World Feels Not Without A Certain Apprehension, That Here Is Someone Outside Its Jurisdiction; Someone Before Whom Its Allurements May Be Spread In Vain; Some One Strangely Enfranchised, Untamed, Untrammelled By Convention, Moving Independent Of The Ordinary Currents Of Human Action.

Solitary Trees, If They Grow At All, Grow Strong.

When One Is In Office One Has No Idea How Damnable Things Can Feel To The Ordinary Rank And File Of The Public.