To Write Is A Humiliation.

The Bad Poet Is A Toady Mimicking Nature.

Ambition Is A Dead Sea Fruit, And The Greatest Peril To The Soul Is That One Is Likely To Get Precisely What He Is Seeking.

It Takes A Long Time To Understand Nothing.

The Ruin Of The Human Heart Is Self-interest, Which The American Merchant Calls Self-service. We Have Become A Self-service Populace, And All Our Specious Comforts -the Automatic Elevator, The Escalator, The Cafeteria -are Depriving Us Of Volition And Moral And Physical Energy.

I Have No Confidence In A Man Whose Faults You Cannot See.