You Burned The City Of

There Is No Dusk To Be, There Is No Dawn That Was, Only There's Now, And Now, And The Wind In The Grass.

A Man Who Lives, Not By What He Loves But What He Hates, Is A Sick Man.

The American Mood, Perhaps Even The American Character, Has Changed. There Are Few Manifestations Any Longer Of The Old American Self-assurance Which So Irritated Dickens. Instead, There Is A Sense Of Frustration So Perceptible That Even Our Politicians Have Attempted To Exploit It.

Once You Permit Those Who Are Convinced Of Their Own Superior Rightness To Censor And Silence And Suppress Those Who Hold Contrary Opinions, Just At That Moment The Citadel Has Been Surrendered.

See The World As It Truly Is, Small And Blue, Beautiful In That Eternal Silence Where It Floats.