I Drink The Wine Of

Humanism Is The Creed Of Those Who Believe That In The Circle Of Enwrapping Mystery, Men's Fates Are In Their Own Hands - A Faith That For Modern Man Is Becoming The Only Possible Faith.

I Am Still Under The Impression That There Is Nothing Alive Quite So Beautiful As A Thoroughbred Horse.

When Man Evolved Pity, He Did A Queer Thing - Deprived Himself Of The Power Of Living Life As It Is Without Wishing It To Become Something Different.

Art Is The One Form Of Human Energy In The Whole World, Which Really Works For Union, And Destroys The Barriers Between Man And Man. It Is The Continual, Unconscious Replacement, However Fleeting, Of Oneself By Another; The Real Cement Of Human Life; The Everlasting Refreshment And Renewal. For, What Is Grievous, Dompting, Grim, About Our Lives Is That We Are Shut Up Within Ourselves, With An Itch To Get Outside Ourselves. And To Be Stolen Away From Ourselves By Art Is A Momentary Relaxation From That Itching, A Minute's Profound, And As It Were Secret, Enfranchisement.

Idealism Increases In Direct Proportion To One's Distance From The Problem.