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. . . This Rage - I Have Never Forgotten It - Contained Every Anger, Every Revolt I Had Ever Felt In My Life - The Way I Felt When I Saw The Black Dog Hunted, The Way I Felt When I Watched Old Uncle Henry Taken Away To The Almshouse, The Way I Felt Whenever I Had Seen People Or Animals Hurt For The Pleasure Or Profit Of Others.

-Ellen Glasgow

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. . . This

Ellen Glasgow

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. . . This Rage - I Have Never Forgotten It - Contained Every Anger, Every Revolt I Had Ever Felt In My Life - The Way I Felt When I Saw The Black Dog Hunted, The Way I Felt When I Watched Old Uncle Henry Taken Away To The Almshouse, The Way I Felt Whenever I Had Seen People Or Animals Hurt For The Pleasure Or Profit Of Others.

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What Was Time Itself But The Bloom, The Sheath Enfolding Experience? Within Time, And With Time Alone, There Was Life - The Gleam, The Quiver, The Heartbeat, The Immeasurable Joy And Anguish Of Being.

The Only Difference Between A Rut And A Grave Are The Dimensions.

It Is Only By Knowing How Little Life Has In Store For Us That We Are Able To Look On The Bright Side And Avoid Disappointment.

To Seize The Flying Thought Before It Escapes Us Is Our Only Touch With Reality.

I Never Saw The Man Yet That Came Out Of Politics As Clean As He Went Into 'em.

The Surest Way Of Winning Love Is To Look As If You Didn't Need It.

A Doctrine Of Endurance Flows Easily From Our Lips When We Are Enduring Jam And Our Neighbors Dry Bread, And It Is Still Possible For Us To Become Resigned To The Afflictions Of Our Brother.

The Worst Thing About War Is That So Many People Enjoy It.

Nothing Is More Trying Than Nerves To People Who Have None.

The Only Natural Human Beings Seem To Be Those Who Are Making Trouble.

Nothing In Life Is So Hard That You Can't Make It Easier By The Way You Take It.

Nations Decay From Within More Often Than They Surrender To Outward Assault.

If Broken Hearts Could Kill, The Earth Would Be As Dead As The Moon.

Doesn't All Experience Crumble In The End To Mere Literary Material?

A Self-made Martyr Is A Poor Thing.

. . . This Rage - I Have Never Forgotten It - Contained Every Anger, Every Revolt I Had Ever Felt In My Life - The Way I Felt When I Saw The Black Dog Hunted, The Way I Felt When I Watched Old Uncle Henry Taken Away To The Almshouse, The Way I Felt Whenever I Had Seen People Or Animals Hurt For The Pleasure Or Profit Of Others.

Nobody, Not Even The Old, Not Even The Despairing, Wished To Come To An End In Time Or In Eternity.

Cruelty Is The Only Sin.

Life Has Taught Me That The Greatest Tragedy Is Not To Die Too Soon But To Live Too Long.

Moderation Has Never Yet Engineered An Explosion

He Felt With The Force Of A Revelation That To Throw Up The Clods Of Earth Manfully Is As Beneficent As To Revolutionize The World. It Was Not The Matter Of The Work, But The Mind That Went Into It, That Counted - And The Man Who Was Not Content To Do Small Things Well Would Leave Great Things Undone.

I'm Not Going To Lie Down And Let Trouble Walk Over Me.

In Her Single Person She Managed To Produce The Effect Of A Majority.

I Have Written Chiefly Because, Though I Have Often Dreaded The Necessity, I Have Found It More Painful, In The End, Not To Write.

The Age Is A Vociferous One, And No Prophet Is Without Honor Who Is Able To Strike An Attitude And To Speak Loud Enough To Make Himself Heard.

After A Day Of Rain The Sun Came Out Suddenly At Five O'clock And Threw A Golden Bar Into The Deep Victorian Gloom Of The Front Parlour

I Ain't Never Seen No Head So Level That It Could Bear The Lettin' In Of Politics.

Happiness Is A Hardy Annual.

I Revolted From Sentimentality, Less Because It Was False Than Because It Was Cruel.

Of One Thing Alone I Am Very Sure: It Is A Law Of Our Nature That The Memory Of Longing Should Survive The More Fugitive Memory Of Fulfillment.

The Old Alone Have Finality. What Is True Of The Young Today May Be False Tomorrow. They Are Enveloped In Emotion; And Emotion As A State Of Being Is Fluent And Evanescent.

... Beauty, Like Ecstasy, Has Always Been Hostile To The Commonplace. And The Commonplace, Under Its Popular Label Of The Normal,has Been The Supreme Authority For Homo Sapiens Since The Days When He Was Probably Arboreal.

The Hardest Thing For Me Is The Sense Of Impermanence. All Passes; Nothing Returns.

Apart From Letters, It Is The Vulgar Custom Of The Moment To Deride The Thinkers Of The Victorian And Edwardian Eras; Yet There Has Not Been, In All History, Another Agewhen So Much Sheer Mental Energy Was Directed Toward Creating A Fairer Social Order.

What I Hated Even More Than The Conflict Was The Lurid Spectacle Of A World Of Unreason.

I Have Little Faith In The Theory That Organized Killing Is The Best Prelude To Peace.

Anger And Jealousy Are Spasms Of The Nerves, Not Of The Heart.

The Hardest Thing To Believe When You're Young Is That People Will Fight To Stay In A Rut, But Not To Get Out Of One.

There Is Only One Force Stronger Than Selfishness, And That Is Stupidity.

Give The Young Half A Chance And They Will Create Their Own Future, They Will Even Create Their Own Heaven And Earth.

Surely One Of The Peculiar Habits Of Circumstances Is The Way They Follow, In Their Eternal Recurrence, A Single Course. If An Event Happens Once In A Life, It May Be Depended Upon To Repeat Later Its General Design.

Violence Commands Both Literature And Life, And Violence Is Always Crude And Distorted.

Tilling The Fertile Soil Of Man's Vanity.

There Is In Every Human Being, I Think, A Native Country Of The Mind, Where, Protected By Inaccessible Barriers, The Sensitive Dream Life May Exist Safely.

I Suppose I Am A Born Novelist, For The Things I Imagine Are More Vital And Vivid To Me Than The Things I Remember.

What Happens Is Not As Important As How You React To What Happens.

What Fools People Are When They Think They Can Make Two Lives Belong Together By Saying Words Over Them.

It Seems To Me That This Is The True Test For Poetry: - That It Should Go Beneath Experience, As Prose Can Never Do, And Awaken An Apprehension Of Things We Have Never, And Can Never, Know In The Actuality.

Knowledge, Like Experience, Is Valid In Fiction Only After It Has Dissolved And Filtered Down Through The Imagination Into Reality.

Passion Alone Could Destroy Passion. All The Thinking In The World Could Not Make So Much As A Dent In Its Surface.

Like All Born Politicians, Their Eye Was For The Main Chance Rather Than For The Argument, And They Found It Easier To Forswear A Conviction Than To Forego A Comfort.

Given Two Tempers And The Time, The Ordinary Marriage Produces Anarchy.

Women Like To Sit Down With Trouble - As If It Were Knitting.

I've Liked Life Well Enough, But I Reckon I'll Like Death Even Better As Soon As I've Gotten Used To The Feel Of It. ... I Shouldn't Be Amazed To Find It Less Lonely Than Life After I'm Once Safely Settled.

... To Be "literary" Appeared To My Deluded Innocence As An Unending Romance.

Too Much Principle Is Often More Harmful Than Too Little.

Spring, Which Germinated In The Earth, Moved Also With A Strange Restlessness, In The Hearts Of... Women. As The Weeks Passed, Inextinguishable Hope, Which Mounts With The Rising Sap, Looked From Their Faces.

The Truth Is I've Got The Land On My Back, An' It's Drivin' Me. Land Is A Hard Driver.

Grandpa Says We've Got Everything To Make Us Happy But Happiness.

It Is Only In The Heart That Anything Really Happens.

No Idea Is So Antiquitated That It Was Not Once Modern. No Idea Is So Modern That It Will Not Some Day Be Antiquitated . . . To Seize The Flying Thought Before It Escapes Us Is Our Only Touch With Reality.

... Though Not Invariably The Worst Choice, War Is Always An Obscene Horror.

Energy Had Fastened Upon Her Like A Disease.

So Long As The Serpent Continues To Crawl On The Ground, The Primary Influence Of Woman Will Be Indirect.

Insolent Youth Rides, Now, In The Whirlwind. For Those Modern Iconoclasts Who Are Without Culture Possess, Apparently, All The Courage.

To Teach One's Self Is To Be Forced To Learn Twice.

Pessimism Is The Affectation Of Youth, The Reality Of Age.

No Life Is So Hard That You Can't Make It Easier By The Way You Take It For Example By Seeing It How It Could Be Worse And Then Being Grateful It Isn't.

...i Had Grown Up In A World That Was Dominated By Immature Age. Not By Vigorous Immaturity, But By Immaturity That Was Old And Tired And Prudent, That Loved Ritual And Rubric, And Was Utterly Wanting In Curiosity About The New And The Strange. Its Era Has Passed Away, And The World It Made Has Crumbled Around Us. Its Finest Creation, A Code Of Manners, Has Been Ridiculed And Discarded.

She Must Face Her Grief Where The Struggle Is Always Hardest-in The Place Where Each Trivial Object Is Attended By Pleasant Memories.

. . . Every Tree Near Our House Had A Name Of Its Own And A Special Identity. This Was The Beginning Of My Love For Natural Things, For Earth And Sky, For Roads And Fields And Woods, For Trees And Grass And Flowers; A Love Which Has Been Second Only To My Sense Of Enduring Kinship With Birds And Animals, And All Inarticulate Creatures.

Idealism, That Gaudy Coloring Matter Of Passion, Fades When It Is Brought Beneath The Trenchant White Light Of Knowledge. Ideals, Like Mountains, Are Best At A Distance.

But There Is, I Have Learned, No Permanent Escape From The Past. It May Be An Unrecognized Law Of Our Nature That We Should Be Drawn Back, Inevitably, To The Place Where We Have Suffered Most.

That Was The Worst Of Being Poor, You Couldn't Give The Right Things In Sickness.

To Be Honest And Yet Popular Is Almost As Difficult In Literature As It Is In Life.

There Wouldn't Be Half As Much Fun In The World If It Weren't For Children And Men, And There Ain't A Mite Of Difference Between Them Under The Skins.

O God, Let Me Write Books! Please, God, Let Me Write Books!

Marriage Is Mostly Puttin' Up With Things, I Reckon, When It Ain't Makin' Believe.

For Me, The Novel Is Experience Illumined By Imagination.

... In The Nineteen-thirties ... The Most Casual Reader Of Murder Mysteries Could Infallibly Detect The Villain, As Soon As There Entered A Character Who Had Recently Washed His Neck And Did Not Commit Mayhem On The English Language.

Murder Mysteries

He Knows So Little And Knows It So Fluently.

In Her Abhorrrence Of A Vacuum, Nature, For The Furtherance Of Her Favorite Hobby, Has Often To Resort To Strange Devices. If She Could But Understand That Vacuity Is Sometimes Better Than Superfluity!

My First Reading Of Tolstoy Affected Me As A Revelation From Heaven, As The Trumpet Of The Judgment. What He Made Me Feel Was Notthe Desire To Imitate, But The Conviction That Imitation Was Futile.

First, I Was An Idealist (that Was Early - Fools Are Born, Not Made, You Know); Next I Was A Realist; Now I Am A Pessimist, And, By Jove! If Things Get Much Worse I'll Become A Humorist.

I Was Always A Feminist, For I Liked Intellectual Revolt As Much As I Disliked Physical Violence. On The Whole, I Think Women Havelost Something Precious, But Have Gained, Immeasurably, By The Passing Of The Old Order.

Convictions ... Are Always Getting In The Way Of Opportunities.

The Older I Grow The More Earnestly I Feel That The Few Joys Of Childhood Are The Best That Life Has To Give.

Cynicism Is A Sure Sign Of Youth.

Though Pleasure May Be Purchasable, Happiness Cannot Be Bought For A Price.

You Look As If You Had Lived On Duty And It Hadn't Agreed With You.

You Can't Fit The Same Religion To Every Man Any Mo' Than You Can The Same Pair Of Breeches. The Big Man Takes The Big Breeches An' The Little Man Takes The Small Ones, An' It's Jest The Same With Religion. It May Be Cut After One Pattern, But It's Might Apt To Get Its Shape From The Wearer Inside. Why, Thar Ain't Any Text So Peaceable That It Ain't Drawn Blood From Somebody.

He Who Demands Little Gets It.

I Haven't Much Opinion Of Words. They're Apt To Set Fire To A Dry Tongue, That's What I Say.

I Liked Human Beings, But I Did Not Love Human Nature.

What Depresses Me Is The Inevitable Way The Second Rate Forges Ahead And The Deserving Is Left Behind.

All Change Is Not Growth, As All Movement Is Not Forward.

America Has Enjoyed The Doubtful Blessing Of A Single-track Mind.

I Had No Place In Any Coterie, Or In Any Reciprocal Self-advertising. I Stood Alone. I Stood Outside. I Wanted Only To Learn. I Wanted Only To Write Better.

Some Women Enjoy Unhappy Love Affairs, You Know, Though I Have Always Felt That They Are Greatly Overrated.

So Long As One Is Able To Pose One Has Still Much To Learn About Suffering.

To A Thrifty Theologian, Bent On Redemption With Economy, There Are Few Points Of Ethics Too Fine-spun For Splitting.

No Matter How Vital Experience Might Be While You Lived It, No Sooner Was It Ended And Dead Than It Became As Lifeless As The Piles Of Dry Dust In A School History Book.

After All, You Can't Expect Men Not To Judge By Appearances.

1. Always Wait Between Books For The Springs To Fill Up And Flow Over. 2. Always Preserve Within A Wild Sanctuary, An Inaccessible Valley Of Reveries. 3. Always, And As Far As It Is Possible, Endeavor To Touch Life On Every Side; But Keep The Central Vision Of The Mind, The Inmost Light, Untouched And Untouchable.

Do You Know There Is Always A Barrier Between Me And Any Man Or Woman Who Does Not Like Dogs?

I Have Watchedmany Literary Fashions Shoot Up And Blossom, And Then Fade And Drop.... Yet With The Many That I Have Seen Comeand Go, I Have Never Yet Encountered A Mode Of Thinking That Regarded Itself As Simply A Changing Fashion, And Not As An Infallible Approach To The Right Culture.

To Mourn Was Distressing, But To Endeavor To Mourn And Fail Was Worse Than Distress.

Life Is Never What One Dreams. It Is Seldom What One Desires, But For The Vital Spirit And The Eager Mind, The Future Will Always Hold The Search For Buried Treasure And The Possibility Of High Adventure.

What A Man Marries For's Hard To Tell ... An' What A Woman Marries For's Past Findin' Out.

Youth Is The Period Of Harsh Judgments, And A Man Seldom Learns Until He Reaches Thirty That Human Nature Is Made Up Not Of Simples, But Of Compounds.

Nothing Is More Consuming, Or More Illogical, Than The Desire For Remembrance.

To Drink For Pleasure May Be A Distraction, But To Drink From Misery Is Always A Danger.

It Is Lovely, When I Forget All Birthdays, Including My Own, To Find That Somebody Remembers Me.

Forget The Past

Few Forms Of Life Are So Engaging As Birds.

Dignity Is An Anachronism.

In The Past Few Years, I Have Made A Thrilling Discovery ... That Until One Is Over Sixty, One Can Never Really Learn The Secret Of Living. One Can Then Begin To Live, Not Simply With The Intense Part Of Oneself, But With One's Entire Being.

There Are Times When Life Surprises One, And Anything May Happen, Even What One Had Hoped For.

The Nearer She Came To Death, The More, By Some Perversity Of Nature, Did She Enjoy Living.

There Is No Monster More Destructive Than The Inventive Mind That Has Outstripped Philosophy.

A Good Novel Cannot Be Too Long Or A Bad Novel Too Short.

The Pathos Of Life Is Worse Than The Tragedy.

Only On The Surface Of Things Have I Ever Trod The Beaten Path. So Long As I Could Keep From Hurting Anyone Else, I Have Lived, As Completely As It Was Possible, The Life Of My Choice. I Have Been Free. . . . I Have Done The Work I Wished To Do For The Sake Of That Work Alone.

No One In The Modern World Is More Lonely Than The Writer With A Literary Conscience.

Spring Was Running In A Thin Green Flame Over The Valley.

Conscience Represents A Fetich To Which Good People Sacrifice Their Own Happiness, Bad People Their Neighbors'.

There Is No State Of Satisfaction, Because To Himself No Man Is A Success.

The Share Of The Sympathetic Publisher In The Author's Success - The True Success So Different From The Ephemeral - Is Apt To Be Overlooked In These Blatant Days, So It Is Just As Well That Some Of Us Should Keep It In Mind.

I Hated The Things They Believe In, The Things They So Innocently And Charmingly Pretended. I Hated The Sanctimonious Piety That Let People Hurt Helpless Creatures. I Hated The Prayers And The Hymns - The Fountains And The Red Images That Coloured Their Drab Music, The Fountains Filled With Blood, The Sacrifice Of The Lamb.

I Would Write Of The Universal, Not The Provincial, In Human Nature.... I Would Write Of Characters, Not Of Characteristics.

The Government's Like A Mule, It's Slow And It's Sure; It's Slow To Turn, And It's Sure To Turn The Way You Don't Want It.

Youth Is The Season Of Tragedy And Despair. Youth Is The Time When One's Whole Life Is Entangled In A Web Of Identity, In A Perpetual Maze Of Seeking And Of Finding, Of Passion And Of Disillusion, Of Vague Longings And Of Nameless Griefs, Of Pity That Is A Blade In The Heart, And Of 'all The Little Emptiness Of Love.

When This Immediate Evil Power Has Been Defeated, We Shall Not Yet Have Won The Long Battle With The Elemental Barbarities. Another Hitler, It May Be An Invisible Adversary, Will Attempt, Again, And Yet Again, To Destroy Our Frail Civilization. Is It True, I Wonder, That The Only Way To Escape A War Is To Be In It? When One Is A Part Of An Actuality Does The Imagination Find A Release?

No Idea Is So Antiquated That It Was Not Once Modern. No Idea Is So Modern That It Will Not Someday Be Antiquated.

True Goodness Is An Inward Grace, Not An Outward Necessity.

Women Love With Their Imagination And Men With Their Senses.

[reformers] Might Be Classified As A Distinct Species Having Eyes In The Back Of Their Heads.

The Transcendental Point Of View, The Habit Of Thought Bred By Communion With Earth And Sky, Had Refined The Grain While It Had Roughened The Husk.

Mediocrity Would Always Win By Force Of Numbers, But It Would Win Only More Mediocrity.

I Don't Like Human Nature, But I Do Like Human Beings.

There Is A Terrible Loneliness In The Spring.

Although The Primitive In Art May Be Both Interesting And Impressive, As Portrayed In American Fiction It Is Conspicuous For Dullness Alone. Drab Persons Living Drab Lives, Observed By Drab Minds And Reported In Drab Writing.

It Is Human Nature To Overestimate The Thing You've Never Had.

It Is Difficult To Deal Successfully, He Decided, With A Woman Whose Feelings Cannot Be Hurt.

A Tragic Irony Of Life Is That We So Often Achieve Success Or Financial Independence After The Chief Reason For Which We Sought It Has Passed Away.

Irony Is An Indispensable Ingredient Of The Critical Vision; It Is The Safest Antidote To Sentimental Decay.

...america Has Enjoyed The Doubtful Blessing Of A Single-track Mind. We Are Able To Accommodate, At A Time, Only One National Hero; And We Demand That That Hero Shall Be Uniform And Invincible. As A Literate People We Are Preoccupied, Neither With The Race Nor The Individual, But With The Type. Yesterday, We Romanticized The "tough Guy;" Today, We Are Romanticizing The Underprivileged, Tough Or Tender; Tomorrow, We Shall Begin To Romanticize The Pure Primitive.

The Suitable Is The Last Thing We Ever Want.

No, One Couldn't Make A Revolution, One Couldn't Even Start A Riot, With Sheep That Asked Only For Better Browsing.

Cruelty, I Truly Believe, Is The One And Only Sin.

Audacity Is Of All Qualities The Most Youthful.

Borrowed Illusions Are Better Than None.

Yes, I Learned Long Ago That The Only Satisfaction Of Authorship Lies In Finding The Very Few Who Understand What We Mean. As For Outside Rewards, There Is Not One That I Have Ever Discovered.

The World Of The Egotist Is, Inevitably, A Narrow World, And The Boundaries Of Self Are Limited To The Close Horizon Of Personality.... But, Within This Horizon, There Is Room For Many Attributes That Are Excellent.

For My Own Purpose, I Defined The Art Of Fiction As Experience Illuminated.

Experience Has Taught Me That The Only Cruelties People Condemn Are Those With Which They Do Not Happen To Be Familiar.

A Successful Politician Does Not Have Convictions; He Has Emotions.

Preserve, Within A Wild Sanctuary, An Inaccessible Valley Of Reverie.

Women Are One Of The Almighty's Enigmas To Prove To Men That He Knows More Than They Do.

Many Of The Men Who Had Come To The Wilderness To Practice Religion Appeared To Have Forgotten Its True Nature.

The Things I Feared Were Not In The Sky, But In The Nature And In The Touch Of Humanity. The Cruelty Of Children . . . The Blindness Of The Unpitiful - These Were My Terrors. But Not The Crash Of Thunder Overhead, Not The Bolts Of Fire From The Clouds.

Nothing, Except The Weather Report Or A General Maxim Of Conduct, Is So Unsafe To Rely Upon As A Theory Of Fiction.

It Would Appear, From The Best Examples, That The Proper Way Of Beginning A Preface To One's Work Is With A Humble Apology For Having Written At All.

I Am Inclined To Believe That A Man May Be Free To Do Anything He Pleases If Only He Will Accept Responsibility For Whatever He Does.

But Youth Isn't Happy. Youth Is Sadder Than Age.

There Is No Support So Strong As The Strength That Enables One To Stand Alone.

You Could Have Forgiven My Committing A Sin If You Hadn't Feared That I Had A Committed A Pleasure As Well.

Surely The Novel Should Be A Form Of Art - But Art Was Not Enough. It Must Contain Not Only The Perfection Of Art, But The Imperfection Of Nature.

It Is Wiser To Be Conventionally Immoral Than Unconventionally Moral. It Isn't The Immorality They Object To, But The Originality.

One Cannot Lay A Foundation By Scattering Stones, Nor Is A Reputation For Good Work To Be Got By Strewing Volumes About The World.

... The Ordinary Is Simply The Universal Observed From The Surface, That The Direct Approach To Reality Is Not Without, But Within. Touch Life Anywhereand You Will Touch Universality Wherever You Touch The Earth.

It Is Easy To Convince A Man Who Already Thinks As You Do.

Though It Sounds Absurd, It Is True To Say I Felt Younger At Sixty Than I Felt At Twenty.

And Where Was Happiness If It Sprung Not From The Soil? Where Contentment If It Dwelt Not Near To Nature?

... The Novel, As A Living Force, If Not As A Work Of Art, Owes An Incalculable Debt To What We Call, Mistakenly, The New Psychology, To Freud, In His Earlier Interpretations, And More Truly, I Think, To Jung.

It Was A Perfect Spring Afternoon, And The Air Was Filled With Vague, Roving Scents, As If The Earth Exhaled The Sweetness Of Hidden Flowers.

... The Life Of The Mind Is Reality, And Love Without Romantic Illumination Is A Spiritless Matter.

Youth Is Always An Enemy To The Old.

Theories Have Nothing To Do With Life.

The Great Novels Have Marched With The Years. They Are The Contemporaries Of Time.

Nothingis So Ungrateful As A Rising Generation; Yet, If There Is Any Faintest Glimmer Of Light Ahead Of Us In The Present, Itwas Kindled By The Intellectual Fires That Burned Long Before Us.

As Far Back As I Remember, Long Before I Could Write, I Had Played At Making Stories. But Not Until I Was Seven Or More, Did I Begin To Pray Every Night, "o God, Let Me Write Books! Please, God, Let Me Write Books!"

A Farmer's Got To Be Born, Same As A Fool. You Can't Make A Corn Pone Out Of Flour Dough By The Twistin' Of It.

I Waited And Worked, And Watched The Inferior Exalted For Nearly Thirty Years; And When Recognition Came At Last, It Was Too Late To Alter Events, Or To Make A Difference In Living.

Making A Difference

Life May Take Away Happiness. But It Can't Take Away Having Had It.

Most Women Want Their Youth Back Again; But I Wouldn't Have Mine Back At Any Price. The Worst Years Of My Life Are Behind Me, And My Best Ones Ahead.

The Attraction Of Horror Is A Mental, Or Even An Intellectual, Excitement, But The Fascination Of The Repulsive, So Noticeable Incontemporary Writing, Can Spring Openly From Some Rotted Substance Within Our Civilization.

But, Of Course Only Morons Would Ever Think Or Speak Of Themselves As Intellectuals. That's Why They All Look So Sad.

Evidently, Whatever Else Marriage Might Prevent, It Was Not A Remedy For Isolation Of Spirit.

Words, Like Acts, Become Stale When They Are Repeated.

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