There Is No Such Thing As Talent.

It Is The Patriotic Duty Of Every Man To Lie For His Country.

Play Is A Child's Work And This Is Not A Trivial Pursuit.

Far More Unwaveringly, The Neurotic Keeps Before His Eye His God, His Idol, His Ideal Of Personality And Clings To His Guiding Principle, Losing Sight In The Meanwhile Of Reality, Whereas The Normal Person Is Always Ready To Dispense With This Crutch, This Aid, And Reckon Unhampered With Reality.

It Is Easy To Believe That Life Is Long And One's Gifts Are Vast -- Easy At The Beginning, That Is. But The Limits Of Life Grow More Evident; It Becomes Clear That Great Work Can Be Done Rarely, If At All.

The Human Mind Shows An Urge To Capture Into Fixed Forms Through Unreal Assumptions, That Is, Fictions, That Which Is Chaotic, Always In Flux, And Incomprehensible. Serving This Urge, The Child Quite Generally Uses A Scheme In Order To Act And To Find His Way. We Proceed Much The Same When We Divide The Earth By Meridians And Parallels, For Only Thus Do We Obtain Fixed Points Which We Can Bring Into A Relationship With One Another.