Perhaps This Is An Age

Blessed Is The Satirist; And Blessed The Ironist; Blessed The Witty Scoffer, And Blessed The Sentimentalist; For Each, Having Seen One Spoke Of The Wheel, Thinks To Have Seen All, And Is Content.

All Cities Are Mad: But The Madness Is Gallant. All Cities Are Beautiful: But The Beauty Is Grim.

One Of The Penalties Of Being A Human Being Is Other Human Beings.

There Are A Lot Of People Who Must Have The Table Laid In The Usual Fashion Or They Will Not Enjoy The Dinner.

Everybody Thinks Of Others As Being Excessively Human, With All The Frailties And Crotchets Appertaining To That Curious Condition. But Each Of Us Also Seems To Regard Himself As Existing On A Detached Plane Of Observation, Exempt (save In Moments Of Avid Crisis) From The Strange Whims Of Humanity En Masse.