Writing Is Not An End In Itself

We Cheerfully Assume That In Some Mystic Way Love Conquers All, That Good Outweighs Evil In The Just Balances Of The Universe And At The 11th Hour Something Gloriously Triumphant Will Prevent The Worst Before It Happens.

There Is No Joy So Great As That Of Reporting That A Good Play Has Come To Town.

The Cheese And Wine Party Has The Form Of Friendship Without The Warmth And Devotion. It Is A Device Either For Getting Rid Of Social Obligations Hurriedly En Mass, Or For Making Overtures Towards More Serious Social Relationships, As In The Etiquette Of Whoring.

Walking Companions, Like Heroes, Are Difficult To Pluck Out Of The Crowd Of Acquaintances. Good Dispositions, Ready Wit, Friendly Conversation Serve Well Enough By The Fireside But They Prove Insufficient In The Field. For There You Need Transcendentalists-nothing Less; You Need Poets, Sages, Humorists And Natural Philosophers.

Nothing A Man Writes Can Please Him As Profoundly As Something He Does With His Back, Shoulders And Hands. For Writing Is An Artificial Activity. It Is A Lonely And Private Substitute For Conversation.