Truth Seldom Is Pleasant; It Is Almost

Literature Becomes The Living Memory Of A Nation.

The Secret Is That When You've Been Pitched Head First Into Hell You Just Write About It

Human Rights' Are A Fine Thing, But How Can We Make Ourselves Sure That Our Rights Do Not Expand At The Expense Of The Rights Of Others. A Society With Unlimited Rights Is Incapable Of Standing To Adversity. If We Do Not Wish To Be Ruled By A Coercive Authority, Then Each Of Us Must Rein Himself In...a Stable Society Is Achieved Not By Balancing Opposing Forces But By Conscious Self-limitation: By The Principle That We Are Always Duty-bound To Defer To The Sense Of Moral Justice.

This Deliberately Nurtured Hatred Then Spreads To All That Is Alive, To Life Itself, To The World With Its Colors, Sounds, And Shapes, To The Human Body. The Embittered Art Of The Twentieth Century Is Perishing As A Result Of This Ugly Hate, For Art Is Fruitless Without Love. In The East Art Has Collapsed Because It Has Been Knocked Down And Trampled Upon, But In The West The Fall Has Been Voluntary, A Decline Into A Contrived And Pretentious Quest Where The Artist, Instead Of Attempting To Reveal The Divine Plan, Tries To Put Himself In The Place Of God.

With Such Global Events Looming Over Us Like Mountains, Nay, Like Entire Mountain Ranges, It May Seem Incongruous And Inappropriate To Recall That The Primary Key To Our Being Or Non-being Resides In Each Individual Human Heart, In The Heart’s Preference For Specific Good Or Evil. Yet This Remains True Even Today, And It Is, In Fact, The Most Reliable Key We Have. The Social Theories That Promised So Much Have Demonstrated Their Bankruptcy, Leaving Us At A Dead End.