We Pity People Too Often For The

Could She Fall So Low? No, There Were Limits, And She Believed She Still Knew Where Some Of Them Were.

We Have The Bad Habit, Some Of Us, Of Looking Back To A Time - Almost Any Time Will Do - When Society Was Stable And Orderly, Family Ties Stronger And Deeper, Love More Lasting And Faithful, And So On. Let Me Be Your Cassandra Prophesying After The Fact, And A Long Study Of The Documents In The Case: It Was Never True, That Is, No Truer Than It Is Now.

Art Is A Vocation, As Much As Anything In This World. For The Real Artist, It Is The Most Natural Thing In The World, Not As Necessary As Air And Water, Perhaps, But As Food And Water. But We Really Do Lead Almost A Monastic Life, You Know; To Follow It You Very Often Have To Give Up Something.

Grant That The Idea Of God Is The Most Splendid Single Act Of The Creative Human Imagination, And That All His Multiple Faces And Attributes Correspond To Some Need And Satisfy Some Deep Desire In Mankind; Still, For The Inquirers, It Is Impossible Not To Conclude That This Mystical Concept Has Been Harnessed Rudely To Machinery Of The Most Mundane Sort, And Has Been Made To Serve The Ends Of An Organization Which, Ruling Under Divine Guidance, Has Ruled Very Little Better, And In Some Respects, Worse, Than Certain Rather Mediocre But Frankly Manmade Systems Of Government.

The Arts Do Live Continuously, And They Live Literally By Faith; Their Names And Their Shapes And Their Uses And Their Basic Meanings Survive Unchanged In All That Matters Through Times Of Interruption, Diminishment, Neglect; They Outlive Governments And Creeds And The Societies, Even The Very Civilization That Produced Them. They Cannot Be Destroyed Altogether Because They Represent The Substance Of Faith And The Only Reality. They Are What We Find Again When The Ruins Are Cleared Away.