Writing Is Conscience, Scruple, And The Farming

Men Are Too Unstable To Be Just; They Are Crabbed Because They Have Not Passed Water At The Usual Time, Or Testy Because They Have Not Been Stroked Or Praised.

Nothing In Our Times Has Become So Unattractive As Virtue.

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.

One Cat In A House Is A Sign Of Loneliness.

Evil, Which Is Our Companion All Our Days, Is Not To Be Treated As A Foe. It Is Wrong To Cocker Vice, But We Grow Narrow And Pithless If We Are Furtive About It, For This Is At Best A Pretense, And The Sage Knows Good And Evil Are Kindred. The Worst Of Men Harm Others, And The Best Injure Themselves.