He Thought What A Fine Thing It

Isn't It Grand, Isn't It Good, That Language Has Only One Word For Everything We Associate With Love - From Utter Sanctity To The Most Fleshly Lust? The Result Is Perfect Clarity In Ambiguity, For Love Cannot Be Disembodied Even In Its Most Sanctified Forms, Nor Is It Without Sanctity Even At Its Most Fleshly. Love Is Always Simply Itself, Both As A Subtle Affirmation Of Life And As The Highest Passion; Love Is Our Sympathy With Organic Life.

If The Years Of Youth Are Experienced Slowly, While The Later Years Of Life Hurtle Past At An Ever-increasing Speed, It Must Be Habit That Causes It. We Know Full Well That The Insertion Of New Habits Or The Changing Of Old Ones Is The Only Way To Preserve Life, To Renew Our Sense Of Time, To Rejuvenate, Intensify, And Retard Our Experience Of Time - And Thereby Renew Our Sense Of Life Itself. That Is The Reason For Every Change Of Scenery And Air.

War Is Only A Cowardly Escape From The Problems Of Peace.

We Do Not Fear Being Called Meticulous, Inclining As We Do To The View That Only The Exhaustive Can Be Truly Interesting.

Tolerance Becomes A Crime When Applied To Evil.