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There Are Many Of Our So-called Captains On Industry Who, If The Truth Were Told, And A Shorter And Uglier Word Were Not Unpermissible, Are Little Better Than Malefactors Of Great Wealth.

-James Branch Cabell

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There Are Many Of

James Branch Cabell

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There Are Many Of Our So-called Captains On Industry Who, If The Truth Were Told, And A Shorter And Uglier Word Were Not Unpermissible, Are Little Better Than Malefactors Of Great Wealth.

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Creeds Matter Very Little... The Optimist Proclaims That We Live In The Best Of All Possible Worlds; And The Pessimist Fears This Is True. So I Elect For Neither Label.

Poetry Is Man's Rebellion Against Being What He Is.

The Optimist Sees A Light At The End Of The Tunnel, The Realist Sees A Train Entering The Tunnel, The Pessimist Sees A Train Speeding At Him, Hell For Leather, And The Machinist Sees Three Idiots Sitting On The Rail Track. "the Optimist Proclaims That We Live In The Best Of All Possible Worlds; The Pessimist Fears This Is True."

For Although This Was A Very Heroic War, With A Parade Of Every Sort Of High Moral Principle, And With The Most Sonorous Language Employed Upon Both Sides, It Somehow Failed To Bring About Either The Reformation Or The Ruin Of Humankind: And After The Conclusion Of The Murdering And General Breakage, The World Went On Pretty Much As It Has Done After All Other Wars, With A Vague Notion That A Deal Of Time And Effort Had Been Unprofitably Invested, And A Conviction That It Would Be Inglorious To Say So.

Life Is Very Marvelous... And To The Wonders Of The Earth There Is No End Appointed.

People Marry Through A Variety Of Other Reasons, And With Varying Results: But To Marry For Love Is To Invite Inevitable Tragedy.

I Have Followed After The Truth, Across This Windy Planet Upon Which Every Person Is Nourished By One Or Another Lie.

A Man Of Genuine Literary Genius, Since He Possesses A Temperament Whose Susceptibilities Are Of Wider Area Than Those Of Any Other, Is Inevitably Of All People The One Most Variously Affected By His Surroundings. And It Is He, In Consequence, Who Of All People Most Faithfully And Compactly Exhibits The Impress Of His Times And His Times' Tendencies, Not Merely In His Writings Where It Conceivably Might Be Just Predetermined Affectation But In His Personality.

In The Beginning The Gods Made Man, And Fashioned The Sky And The Sea, And The Earth's Fair Face For Man's Dwelling-place, And This Was The Gods' Decree: "lo, We Have Given To Man Five Wits: He Discerneth Folly And Sin; He Is Swift To Deride All The World Outside, And Blind To The World Within: So That Man May Make Sport And Amuse Us, In Battling For Phrases Or Pelf, Now That Each May Know What Forebodeth Woe To His Neighbor, And Not To Himself.

What Really Matters Is That There Is So Much Faith And Love And Kindliness Which We Can Share With And Provoke In Others, And That By Cleanly, Simple, Generous Living We Approach Perfection In The Highest And Most Lovely Of All Arts. . . . But You, I Think, Have Always Comprehended This.

But With Man The Case Is Otherwise, In That When Logic Leads To Any Humiliating Conclusion, The Sole Effect Is To Discredit Logic.

I Am Willing To Taste Any Drink Once.

People Never Want To Be Told Anything They Do Not Believe Already.

I Do That Which I Do In Every Place. Here Also, At The Gateway Of That Garden Into Which Time Has Not Entered, I Fight With Time My Ever-losing Battle, Because To Do That Diverts Me.

Thou Shalt Not Offend Against The Notions Of Thy Neighbor.

The Touch Of Time Does More Than The Club Of Hercules.

Man Alone Of Animals Plays The Ape To His Dreams .

A Book , Once It Is Printed And Published, Becomes Individual. It Is By Its Publication As Decisively Severed From Its Author As In Parturition A Child Is Cut Off From Its Parent. The Book "means" Thereafter, Perforce, Both Grammatically And Actually, Whatever Meaning This Or That Reader Gets Out Of It.

American Literature Was Enriched With Men Who Loved Allison .... Of The Actual And Eventual Worth Of This Romance I Cannot Pretend To Be An Unprejudiced Judge. The Tale Seems To Me One Of Those Many Books Which Have Profited, Very Dubiously Indeed, By Having Obtained, In One Way Of Another, The Repute Of Being Indecent.

In Religious Matters A Traveller Loses Nothing By Civility.

Every Notion That Any Man, Dead, Living, Or Unborn, Might Form As To The Universe Will Necessarily Prove Wrong

Good And Evil Keep Very Exact Accounts... And The Face Of Every Man Is Their Ledger.

Literature Is A Vast Bazaar Where Customers Come To Purchase Everything Except Mirrors.

There Is No Gift More Great Than Love.

Love, I Take It, Must Look Toward Something Not Quite Accessible, Something Not Quite Understood.

Whatever Pretended Pessimists In Search Of Notoriety May Say, Most People Are Naturally Kind, At Heart.

And One Would Worship A Woman Whom All Perfections Dower, But The Other Smiles At Transparent Wiles; And He Quotes From Schopenhauer . Thus Two By Two We Wrangle And Blunder About The Earth, And That Body We Share We May Not Spare; But The Gods Have Need Of Mirth.

No Person Of Quality Ever Remembers Social Restrictions Save When Considering How Most Piquantly To Break Them.

I Fear You And, Yes, I Love You: And Yet I Cannot Believe. Why Could You Not Let Me Believe, Where So Many Believed? Or Else, Why Could You Not Let Me Deride, As The Remainder Derided So Noisily? O God, Why Could You Not Let Me Have Faith? For You Gave Me No Faith In Anything, Not Even In Nothingness. It Was Not Fair.

What Is Man That His Welfare Be Considered? An Ape Who Chatters Of Kinship With The Archangels While He Very Filthily Digs For Groundnuts. And Yet I Perceive That This Same Man Is A Maimed God. He Is Condemned Under Penalty To Measure Eternity With An Hourglass And Infinity With A Yardstick And What Is More, He Very Nearly Does It.

Time Changes All Things And Cultivates Even In Herself An Appreciation Of Irony, And, Therefore, Why Shouldn't I Have Changed A Trifle?

People Must Have Both Their Dreams And Their Dinners In This World, And When We Go Out Of It We Must Take What We Find. That Is All.

The Man Was Not Merely Very Human; He Was Humanity. And I Reflected That It Is Only By Preserving Faith In Human Dreams That We May, After All, Perhaps Some Day Make Them Come True.

No Lady Is Ever A Gentleman.

At All Events, I Do Not Mean To Leave It Unaltered.

There Is No Escaping, At Times, The Gloomy Suspicion That Fiddling With Pens And Ink Is, After All, No Fit Employment For A Grown Man.

The Only Way Of Rendering Life Endurable Is To Drink As Much Wine As One Can Come By.

In What Else, Pray, Does Man Differ From The Other Animals Except In That He Is Used By Words?

For All Men Have But A Little While To Live And None Knows His Fate Thereafter. So That A Man Possesses Nothing Certainly Save A Brief Loan Of His Body: And Yet The Body Of Man Is Capable Of Much Curious Pleasure.

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What Am I That I Am Called Upon To Have Prejudices Concerning The Universe?

I Was Born, I Think, With The Desire To Make Beautiful Books — Brave Books That Would Preserve The Glories Of The Dream Untarnished, And Would Re-create Them For Battered People, And Re-awaken Joy And Magnanimity.

Here Was The Astounding Fact: The Race Did Go Forward; The Race Did Achieve; And In Every Way The Race Grew Better. Progress Through Irrational And Astounding Blunders, Whose Outrageousness Bedwarfed The Wildest Cliches Of Romance, Was What Kennaston Found Everywhere. All This, Then, Also Was Foreplanned, Just As All Happenings At Storisende Had Been, In His Puny Romance; And The Puppets, Here To, Moved As They Thought Of Their Own Volition, But Really In Order To Serve A Denouement In Which Many Of Them Had Not Any Personal Part Or Interest...

There Are Many Of Our So-called Captains On Industry Who, If The Truth Were Told, And A Shorter And Uglier Word Were Not Unpermissible, Are Little Better Than Malefactors Of Great Wealth.

If We Assiduously Cultivate Our Powers Of Exaggeration, Perhaps We, Too, Shall Obtain The Paradise Of Liars. And There Raphael Shall Paint For Us Scores And Scores Of His Manifestly Impossible Pictures... And Shakespeare Will Lie To Us Of Fabulous Islands Far Past 'the Still-vex'd Bermoothes,' And Bring Us Fresh Tales From The Coast Of Bohemia. For No One Will Speak The Truth There, And We Shall All Be Perfectly Happy.

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A Manpossessesnothing Certainlysavea Brief Loanof His Own Body.

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Whatever There Is To Know, That Shall We Know One Day.

Oh, Do The Overlords Of Life And Death Always Provide Some Obstacle To Prevent What All Of Us Have Known In Youth Was Possible From Ever Coming True?

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The Desire To Write Perfectly Of Beautiful Happenings Is, As The Saying Runs, Old As The Hills — And As Immortal.

I Take It That I Must Be The Eternal Playfellow Of Time. For Piety And Common-sense And Death Are Rightfully Time's Toys; And It Is With These Three That I Divert Myself.

While It Is Well Enough To Leave Footprints On The Sands Of Time, It Is Even More Important To Make Sure They Point In A Commendable Direction.

As It Is, Plain Reasoning Assures Me I Am Not Indispensable To The Universe: But With This Reasoning, Somehow, Does Not Travel My Belief.

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