The Ant Is Knowing And Wise, But

You Can't Sweep Other People Off Their Feet, If You Can't Be Swept Off Your Own.

Elephants Suffer From Too Much Patience. Their Exhibitions Of It May Seem Superb,-such Power And Such Restraint, Combined, Are Noble,-but A Quality Carried To Excess Defeats Itself.

It Is Possible That Our Race May Be An Accident, In A Meaningless Universe, Living Its Brief Life Uncared For, On This Dark, Cooling Star: But Even So - And All The More - What Marvelous Creatures We Are! What Fairy Story, What Tale From The Arabian Nights Of The Jinns, Is A Hundredth Part As Wonderful As This True Fairy Story Of Simians! It Is So Much More Heartening, Too, Than The Tales We Invent. A Universe Capable Of Giving Birth To Many Such Accidents Is - Blind Or Not - A Good World To Live In, A Promising Universe. . . . We Once Thought We Lived On God's Footstool, It May Be A Throne.

The Egg It Is The Source Of All To Everyone's Ancestral Hall.

The Artistic Impulse Seems Not To Wish To Produce Finished Work. It Certainly Deserts Us Half-way, After The Idea Is Born; And If We Go On, It Is Labor.