Every Maiden's Weak And Willin'

It Is Possible That Our Race May Be An Accident, In A Meaningless Universe, Living Its Brief Life Uncared For, On This Dark, Cooling Star: But Even So - And All The More - What Marvelous Creatures We Are! What Fairy Story, What Tale From The Arabian Nights Of The Jinns, Is A Hundredth Part As Wonderful As This True Fairy Story Of Simians! It Is So Much More Heartening, Too, Than The Tales We Invent. A Universe Capable Of Giving Birth To Many Such Accidents Is - Blind Or Not - A Good World To Live In, A Promising Universe. . . . We Once Thought We Lived On God's Footstool, It May Be A Throne.

The Poets Of Each Generation Seldom Sing A New Song. They Turn To Themes Men Always Have Loved, And Sing Them In The Mode Of Their Times.

Age Should Not Have Its Face Lifted, But It Should Rather Teach The World To Admire Wrinkles As The Etchings Of Experience And The Firm Line Of Character.

The Artistic Impulse Seems Not To Wish To Produce Finished Work. It Certainly Deserts Us Half-way, After The Idea Is Born; And If We Go On, It Is Labor.

This Is A Hard And Precarious World, Where Every Mistake And Infirmity Must Be Paid For In Full.