The Greatest Of The Arts Is The

Had The Cub Thought In Man-fashion, He Might Have Epitomized Life As A Voracious Appetite, And The World As A Place Wherein Ranged A Multitude Of Appetites, Pursuing And Being Pursued, Hunting And Being Hunted, Eating And Being Eaten, All In Blindness And Confusion, With Violence And Disorder, A Chaos Of Gluttony And Slaughter, Ruled Over By Chance, Merciless, Planless, Endless.

The Grapes On A Score Of Rolling Hills Are Red With Autumn Flame. Across Sonoma Mountain Wisps Of Sea Fog Are Stealing. The Afternoon Sun Smoulders In The Drowsy Sky. I Have Everything To Make Me Glad I Am Alive. I Am Filled With Dreams And Mysteries. I Am All Sun And Air And Sparkle. I Am Vitalized, Organic.

Pray Do Not Interrupt Me," He Wrote. "i Am Smiling.

I'd Rather Sing One Wild Song And Burst My Heart With It, Than Live A Thousand Years Watching My Digestion And Being Afraid Of The Wet.

[speaking To A Group Of Wealthy New Yorkers] A Million Years Ago, The Cave Man, Without Tools, With Small Brain, And With Nothing But The Strength Of His Body, Managed To Feed His Wife And Children, So That Through Him The Race Survived. You On The Other Hand, Armed With All The Modern Means Of Production, Multiplying The Productive Capacity Of The Cave Man A Million Times — You Are Incompetents And Muddlers, You Are Unable To Secure To Millions Even The Paltry Amount Of Bread That Would Sustain Their Physical Life. You Have Mismanaged The World, And It Shall Be Taken From You.