... Too Much Brooding, Not Enough Doing.

Nothing So Completely Verifies Our Perception Of A Thing As Our Killing Of It.

I Still Maintain That An Ordinary Human Being Has The Right To Be Horrified By A Mangled Body Seen On An Afternoon Walk.

Literature Was Intended To Be Dangerous. Art Was Meant To Be Dangerous. Ideas Were Nothing If They Were Not Dangerous.

What You People Who Weren't Yet Born Can Never Know Is What It Meant To Sleep In Cities Under Silent Falls Of Snow When All Night Long The Only Sounds You Heard Were Dogs That Parked At Trains That Passed So Far Away They Took A Short Cut Through Your Dreams And No One Even Woke. It Was The War That Changed That. It Was. After The Great War For Civilization - Sleep Was Different Everywhere.

Think Of Any Great Man Or Woman. How Can You Separate Them From The Years In Which They Lived? You Can't. Their Greatness Lies In Their Response To That Moment.