For, To Conceited Men, All Other Men

Good Taste" Is A Virtue Of The Keepers Of Museums. If You Scorn Bad Taste, You Will Have Neither Painting Nor Dancing, Neither Palaces Nor Gardens.

What He Had Yearned To Embrace Was Not The Flesh But A Down Spirit, A Spark, The Impalpable Angel That Inhabits The Flesh.

The Job Has Its Grandeurs, Yes. There Is The Exultation Of Arriving Safely After A Storm, The Joy Of Gliding Down Out Of The Darkness Of Night Or Tempest Toward A Sun-drenched Alicante Or Santiago; There Is The Swelling Sense Of Returning To Repossess One's Place In Life, In The Miraculous Garden Of Earth, Where Are Trees And Women And, Down By The Harbor, Friendly Little Bars. When He Has Throttled His Engine And Is Banking Into The Airport, Leaving The Somber Cloud Masses Behind, What Pilot Does Not Break Into Song?

If You Want To Build A Boat, Do Not Instruct The Men To Saw Wood, Stitch The Sails, Prepare The Tools And Organize The Work, But Make Them Long For Setting Sail And Travel To Distant Lands.

When One Is Building A Ship, One Does Not Begin With Gathering Timber And Cutting Planks, But Rather By Arousing In People The Yearning For The Great Wide Sea.