The Tree Is A Slow,

Vain Is The Hope Of Finding Pleasure In That Which One Has Hitherto Disdained; As When The Warrior Hopes To Find Pleasure In The Joys Of The Sedentaries.

One Cannot Build Life From Refrigerators, Politics, Credit Statements And Crossword Puzzles. That Is Impossible. Nor Can One Exist For Any Length Of Time Without Poetry, Without Color, Without Love.

Nothing Can Match The Treasure Of Common Memories.

For, To Conceited Men, All Other Men Are Admirers.

The Machine Does Not Isolate Man From The Great Problems Of Nature But Plunges Him More Deeply Into Them.