The Man, With His Brain,

The Pitch To Which He Was Aroused Was Tremendous. All The Fighting Blood Of His Breed Was Up In Him And Surging Through Him. This Was Living., Though He Did Not Know It. He Was Realizing His Own Meaning In The World; He Was Doing That For Which He Was Made.... He Was Justifying His Existence, Than Which Life Can Do No Greater; For Life Achieves Its Summit When It Does To The Uttermost That Which It Was Equipped To Do.

Socialism, When The Last Word Is Said, Is Merely A New Economic And Political System Whereby More Men Can Get Food To Eat.

And How Have I Lived? Frankly And Openly, Though Crudely. I Have Not Been Afraid Of Life. I Have Not Shrunk From It. I Have Taken It For What It Was At Its Own Valuation. And I Have Not Been Ashamed Of It. Just As It Was, It Was Mine.

The Proper Function Of Man Is To Live, Not To Exist. I Shall Not Waste My Days In Trying To Prolong Them. I Shall Use My Time.

But This Is Not A World Of Free Freights. One Pays According To An Iron Schedule--for Every Strength The Balanced Weakness; For Every High A Corresponding Low; For Every Fictitious God-like Moment An Equivalent Time In Reptilian Slime. For Every Feat Of Telescoping Long Days And Weeks Of Life Into Mad Magnificent Instants, One Must Pay With Shortened Life, And, Oft-times, With Savage Usury Added.