The Few Love Affairs Which Had Come

Truth! Truth! Truth! Crieth The Lord Of The Abyss Of Hallucinations

The Supreme Satisfaction Is To Be Able To Despise One's Neighbor And This Fact Goes Far To Account For Religious Intolerance. It Is Evidently Consoling To Reflect That The People Next Door Are Headed For Hell.

The Pious Pretense That Evil Does Not Exist Only Makes It Vague, Enormous And Menacing.

To Knot A Sentence Up Properly, It Has To Be Thought Out Carefully, And Revised. New Phrases Have To Be Put In; Sudden Changes Of Subject Must Be Introducted; Verbs Must Be Shifted To Unsuspected Localities; Short Words Must Be Excised With Ruthless Hand; Archaisms Must Be Sprinkled Like Sugar-plums Upon The Concoction; The Fatal Human Tendency To Say Things Straightforwardly Must Be Detected And Defeated By Adroit Reversals; And, If A Glimmer Of Meaning Yet Remain Under Close Scrutiny, It Must Be Removed By Replacing All The Principal Verbs By Paraphrases In Some Dead Language.

As Soon As You Put Men Together, They Somehow Sink, Corporatively, Below The Level Of The Worst Of The Individuals Composing It. Collect Scholars On A Club Committee, Or Men Of Science On A Jury; All Their Virtues Vanish, And Their Vices Pop Out, Reinforced By The Self-confidence Which The Power Of Numbers Is Bound To Bestow.