Just Spunk Won't Be Enough;

A Mother Never Realizes That Her Children Are No Longer Children.

...but You Are Too Much For Them: The Weak In Courage Are Strong In Cunning; And One By One, You Have Absorbed And Have Captured And Dishonored, And Have Distilled Of Your Deliverers The Most Ruinous Of All Poisons; People Hear Beethoven In Concert Halls, Or Over A Bridge Game, Or To Relax; Cézannes Are Hung On Walls, Reproduced, In Natural Wood Frames; Van Gogh Is The Man Who Cut Off His Ear And Whose Yellows Became Recently Popular In Window Decoration.

You've Got To Bear It In Mind That Nobody That Ever Lived Is Specially Privileged; The Axe Can Fall At Any Moment, On Any Neck, Without Any Warning Or Any Regard For Justice. You've Got To Keep Your Mind Off Pitying Your Own Rotten Luck And Setting Up Any Kind Of A Howl About It. You've Got To Remember That Things As Bad As This And A Hell Of A Lot Worse Have Happened To Millions Of People Before And That They've Come Through It And That You Will Too.

The Deadliest Blow The Enemy Of The Human Soul Can Strike Is To Do Fury Honor. . . . Official Acceptance Is The One Unmistakable Symptom That Salvation Is Beaten Again, And Is The One Surest Sign Of Fatal Misunderstanding, And Is The Kiss Of Judas.

Children, Taught Either Years Beneath Their Intelligence Or Miles Wide Of Relevance To It, Or Both: Their Intelligence Becomes Hopelessly Bewildered, Drawn Off Its Centers, Bored, Or Atrophied.