Having To Talk Destroys The

This Universe Is A Wild Revel Of Atoms, Men, And Stars, Each One A Soul Of Light And Mirth, Horsed On Eternity.

Magick Is The Art Of Life Itself.

Adaptation To One's Environment Makes For A Sort Of Survival; But After All, The Supreme Victory Is Only Won By Those Who Prove Themselves Of So Much Hardier Stuff Than The Rest That No Power On Earth Is Able To Destroy Them. The People Who Have Really Made History Are The Martyrs.

Every One Interprets Everything In Terms Of His Own Experience. If You Say Anything Which Does Not Touch A Precisely Similar Spot In Another Man's Brain, He Either Misunderstands You, Or Doesn't Understand You At All.

To Knot A Sentence Up Properly, It Has To Be Thought Out Carefully, And Revised. New Phrases Have To Be Put In; Sudden Changes Of Subject Must Be Introducted; Verbs Must Be Shifted To Unsuspected Localities; Short Words Must Be Excised With Ruthless Hand; Archaisms Must Be Sprinkled Like Sugar-plums Upon The Concoction; The Fatal Human Tendency To Say Things Straightforwardly Must Be Detected And Defeated By Adroit Reversals; And, If A Glimmer Of Meaning Yet Remain Under Close Scrutiny, It Must Be Removed By Replacing All The Principal Verbs By Paraphrases In Some Dead Language.