O Sweet Spontaneous Earth

Nothing Recedes Like Progress.

Progress Is A Comfortable Disease.

Love Is The Voice Under All Silences, The Hope Which Has No Opposite In Fear; The Strength So Strong Mere Force Is Feebleness: The Truth More First Than Sun, More Last Than Star.

Every Artist's Strictly Illimitable Country Is Himself. An Artist Who Plays That Country False Has Committed Suicide; And Even A Good Lawyer Cannot Kill The Dead. But A Human Being Who's True To Himself - Whoever Himself May Be - Is Immortal; And All The Atomic Bombs Of All The Antiartists In Spacetime Will Never Civilize Immortality.

Life's Not A Paragraph And Death I Think Is No Parenthesis