It Is Only To Those

We Do Not Want To Think. We Do Not Want To Hear. We Do Not Care About Anything. Only Give Us A Good Dinner And Plenty Of Money, And Let Us Outshine Our Neighbors. There Is The Nineteenth Century Gospel.

Genius Scorns The Power Of Gold: It Is Wrong. Gold Is The War-scythe On Its Chariot, Which Mows Down The Millions Of Its Foes, And Gives Free Passage To The Sun-coursers With Which It Leaves Those Heavenly Fields Of Light For The Gross Battlefields Of Earth.

There Is No Knife That Cuts So Sharply And With Such Poisoned Blade As Treachery.

Hypocrites Weep, And You Cannot Tell Their Tears From Those Of Saints; But No Bad Man Ever Laughed Sweetly Yet.

If All Feeling For Grace And Beauty Were Not Extinguished In The Mass Of Mankind At The Actual Moment, Such A Method Of Locomotion As Cycling Could Never Have Found Acceptance; No Man Or Woman With The Slightest Aesthetic Sense Could Assume The Ludicrous Position Necessary For It.