Sixty Years Ago I Knew

What If It Is For Life's Sake That We Must Die? In Truth We Are Not Individuals; And It Is Because We Think Ourselves Such That Death Seems Unforgivable. We Are Temporary Organs Of The Race, Cells In The Body Of Life; We Die And Drop Away That Life May Remain Young And Strong. If We Were To Live Forever, Growth Would Be Stifled, And Youth Would Find No Room On Earth. Death, Like Style, Is The Removal Of Rubbish, The Circumcision Of The Superfluous. In The Midst Of Death Life Renews Itself Immortally.

All That Is Good In Our History Is Gathered In Libraries. At This Moment, Plato Is Down There At The Library Waiting For Us. So Is Aristotle. Spinoza Is There And So Is Kats. Shelly And Byron Adn Sam Johnson Are There Waiting To Tell Us Their Magnificent Stories. All You Have To Do Is Walk In The Library Door And The Great Company Open Their Arms To You. They Are So Happy To See You That They Come Out With You Into The Street And To Your Home. And They Do What Hardly Any Friend Will-- They Are Silent When You Wish To Think.

A Civilization Is Born Stoic And Dies Epicurean.

We Conclude That The Concentration Of Wealth Is Natural And Inevitable, And Is Periodically Alleviated By Violent Or Peaceable Partial Redistribution. In This View All Economic History Is The Slow Heartbeat Of The Social Organism, A Vast Systole And Diastole Of Concentrating Wealth And Compulsive Redistribution.

Every State Begins In Compulsion; But The Habits Of Obedience Become The Content Of Conscience, And Soon Every Citizen Thrills With Loyalty To The Flag. The Citizen Is Right; For However The State Begins, It Soon Becomes An Indispensable Prop To Order.