If We Value So Highly

The Most Appropriate Type Of Daily Life For Me Was A Day-by-day World Destruction; Peace Was The Most Difficult And Abnormal State To Live In.

True Beauty Is Something That Attacks, Overpowers, Robs, And Finally Destroys.

Was I Ignorant, Then, When I Was Seventeen? I Think Not. I Knew Everything. A Quarter-century's Experience Of Life Since Then Has Added Nothing To What I Knew. The One Difference Is That At Seventeen I Had No 'realism'.

Within Those Confining Walls, Teachers - A Bunch Of Men All Armed With The Same Information - Gave The Same Lectures Every Year From The Same Notebooks And Every Year At The Same Point In The Textbooks Made The Same Jokes.

His Conviction Of Having No Purpose In Life Other Than To Act As A Distillation Of Poison Was Part Of The Ego Of An Eighteen-year-old. He Had Resolved That His Beautiful White Hands Would Never Be Soiled Or Calloused. He Wanted To Be Like A Pennant, Dependent On Each Gusting Wind. The Only Thing That Seemed Valid To Him Was To Live For The Emotions--gratuitous And Unstable, Dying Only To Quicken Again, Dwindling And Flaring Without Direction Or Purpose.