The Nice Thing About Really Intelligent People

War Is A Thug's Game. The Thug Strikes First And Harder. He Doesn't Go By Rules And He Isn't Afraid Of Hurting People.

For Sleep, One Needs Endless Depths Of Blackness To Sink Into; Daylight Is Too Shallow, It Will Not Cover One.

Certain Environments, Certain Modes Of Life, And Certain Rules Of Conduct Are More Conducive To Inner And Outer Harmony Than Others. There Are, In Fact, Certain Roads That One May Follow. Simplification Is One Of Them.

I Do Not Like Talking Casually To People - It Does Not Interest Me - And Most Of Them Are Unwilling To Talk At All Seriously.

I Am Very Fond Of The Oyster Shell. It Is Humble And Awkward And Ugly. It Is Slate-colored And Unsymmetrical. Its Form Is Not Primarily Beautiful But Functional. I Make Fun Of Its Knobbiness. Sometimes I Resent Its Burdens And Excrescences. But Its Tireless Adaptability And Tenacity Draw My Astonished Admiration And Sometimes Even My Tears. And It Is Comfortable In Its Familiarity, Its Homeliness, Like Old Garden Gloves When Have Molded Themselves Perfectly To The Shape Of The Hand. I Do Not Like To Put It Down. I Will Not Want To Leave It.