Surely One Of The Peculiar Habits Of

What Was Time Itself But The Bloom, The Sheath Enfolding Experience? Within Time, And With Time Alone, There Was Life - The Gleam, The Quiver, The Heartbeat, The Immeasurable Joy And Anguish Of Being.

One Cannot Lay A Foundation By Scattering Stones, Nor Is A Reputation For Good Work To Be Got By Strewing Volumes About The World.

Nothing Is More Consuming, Or More Illogical, Than The Desire For Remembrance.

What Depresses Me Is The Inevitable Way The Second Rate Forges Ahead And The Deserving Is Left Behind.

...america Has Enjoyed The Doubtful Blessing Of A Single-track Mind. We Are Able To Accommodate, At A Time, Only One National Hero; And We Demand That That Hero Shall Be Uniform And Invincible. As A Literate People We Are Preoccupied, Neither With The Race Nor The Individual, But With The Type. Yesterday, We Romanticized The "tough Guy;" Today, We Are Romanticizing The Underprivileged, Tough Or Tender; Tomorrow, We Shall Begin To Romanticize The Pure Primitive.