War Vies With Magic In

Happiness, I Think, Lies On The Surface... When One Plunges Under The Surface All The Buoyant Things Disappear, And The Farther Down One Gets The More Cold And Dark It Seems: And The More Oppressive Space Feels.

Sport In The Sense Of A Mass-spectacle, With Death To Add To The Underlying Excitement, Comes Into Existence When A Population Has Been Drilled And Regimented And Depressed To Such An Extent That It Needs At Least A Vicarious Participation In Difficult Feats Of Strength Or Skill Or Heroism In Order To Sustain Its Waning Life-sense.

Don't Take The Will For The Deed; Get The Deed.

Each Religion Is A Brave Guess At The Authorship Of Hamlet. Yet, As Far As The Play Goes, Does It Make Any Difference Whether Shakespeare Or Bacon Wrote It? Would It Make Any Difference To The Actors If Their Parts Happened Out Of Nothingness, If They Found Themselves Acting On The Stage Because Of Some Gross And Unpardonable Accident? Would It Make Any Difference If The Playwright Gave Them The Lines Or Whether They Composed Them Themselves, So Long As The Lines Were Properly Spoken? Would It Make Any Difference To The Characters If 'a Midsummer Night's Dream' Was Really A Dream?

One Of The Functions Of Intelligence Is To Take Account Of The Dangers That Come From Trusting Solely To The Intelligence.