Never, For Any Reason On

My Best Fishing-memory Is About Some Fish That I Never Caught.

We Are The Dead. Our Only True Life Is In The Future. We Shall Take Part In It As Handfuls Of Dust And Splinters Of Bone. But How Far Away That Future May Be, There Is No Knowing.

You Are Imagining That There Is Something Called Human Nature Which Will Be Outraged By What We Do And Will Turn Against Us. But We Create Human Nature. Men Are Infinitely Malleable.

Language Ought To Be The Joint Creation Of Poets And Manual Workers.

Four Legs Gooood, Two Legs Baaad!