Tradition, Thou Art For Suckling Children, Thou

Truth ... Is A Breath, A Wind, A Shadow, A Phantom; Long Have I Pursued It, But Never Have I Touched The Hem Of Its Garment.

A Man With A Full Stomach And The Respect Of His Fellows Had No Business To Scold About Anything That He Might Think To Be Wrong In The Ways Of The Universe, Or Even With The Ways Of Society. Let The Unfortunates Rail; The Others May Play Marbles.

It Was Not Well To Drive Men Into Final Corners; At Those Moments They Could All Develop Teeth And Claws.

It Perhaps Might Be Said--if Any One Dared--that The Most Worthless Literature Of The World Has Been That Which Has Been Written By The Men Of One Nation Concerning The Men Of Another.

Unwind My Riddle.cruel As Hawks The Hours Fly;wounded Men Seldom Come Home To Die;the Hard Waves See An Arm Flung High;scorn Hits Strong Because Of A Lie;yet There Exists A Mystic Tie.unwind My Riddle.