Writing Is Its Own Reward.

The Essential Thing Is To Want To Sing. This Then Is A Song. I Am Singing.

The World Isn't Kept Running Because It's A Paying Proposition. (god Doesn't Make A Cent On The Deal.) The World Goes On Because A Few Men In Every Generation Believe In It Utterly, Accept It Unquestioningly; They Underwrite It With Their Lives.

Every Man With A Bellyful Of The Classics Is An Enemy To The Human Race.

Whatever There Be Of Progress In Life Comes Not Through Adaptation But Through Daring.

Out Yonder They May Curse, Revile, And Torture One Another, Defile All The Human Instincts, Make A Shambles Of Creation (if It Were In Their Power), But Here, No, Here, It Is Unthinkable, Here There Is Abiding Peace, The Peace Of God, And The Serene Security Created By A Handful Of Good Neighbors Living At One With The Creature World.