Stop War? Impossible! There Is No Cure

I Keep Remembering — I Keep Remembering. My Heart Has No Pity On Me.

I Do Not Regret My Youth And Its Beliefs. Up To Now, I Have Wasted My Time To Live. Youth Is The True Force, But It Is Too Rarely Lucid. Sometimes It Has A Triumphant Liking For What Is Now, And The Pugnacious Broadside Of Paradox May Please It. But There Is A Degree In Innovation Which They Who Have Not Lived Very Much Cannot Attain. And Yet Who Knows If The Stern Greatness Of Present Events Will Not Have Educated And Aged The Generation Which To-day Forms Humanity's Effective Frontier? Whatever Our Hope May Be, If We Did Not Place It In Youth, Where Should We Place It?

We Have The Divinity Of Our Great Misery. And Our Solitude, With Its Toilsome Ideas, Tears And Laughter, Is Fatally Divine.

All Lovers In The World Are Alike: They Fall In Love By Chance; They See Each Other, And Are Attached To Each Other By The Features Of Their Faces; They Illuminate Each Other By The Fierce Preference Which Is Akin To Madness; They Assert The Reality Of Illusions; And For A Moment They Change Falsehood Into Truth.

I See Too Deep And Too Much.