Wars Might Come And Go,

Now That Mr. Carter Has Made A Book Of His Diary, An Adoring Memoir Entitled Keeping Faith, The Notes Read Like A Collection Of Letters Sent From Scout Camp.

Among All The Emotions, The Rich Have The Least Talent For Love. It Is Possible To Love One's Dog, Dress Or Duck-shooting Hat, But A Human Being Presents A More Difficult Problem. The Rich Might Wish To Experience Feelings Of Affection, But It Is Almost Impossible To Chip Away The Enamel Of Their Narcissism. They Take Up All The Space In All The Mirrors In The House. Their Children, Who Represent The Most Present And Therefore The Most Annoying Claim On Their Attention, Usually Receive The Brunt Of Their Irritation.

Further Strengthenings Of The Self-centered Instinct For Survival Recruit Even Greater Numbers Of People Into Some Sort Of Ring Of Fellowship (church Or Gender, Red State Or Blue) By Populating The Terra Incognita Outside The Ring With Enough Barbarians To Verify The Existence Of A Civilization Within--to Define The Preferred Stock By What, As All Good People Agree, It Decidedly Is Not.

About The Presence Of Death And Dying I Don't Remember The Society In The 1950s Being So Skittish As It Has Since Become. People Still Died At Home, Among Relatives And Friends, Often In The Care Of A Family Physician. Death Was Still To Be Seen Sitting In The Parlor, Hanging In A Butcher Shop, Sometimes Lying In The Street.

But The Line Of Thought That I'd Been Chasing For Several Days Was Implicit In The Ruins Of The Old Roman Empire, Which Gradually Destroyed Itself By Substituting The Faith In A Legion Of Miraculous Words For The Strength Of Armies And The Weight Of Walls.