In Certain Savage Tribes In New Guinea,

Letters Are Largely Written To Get Things Out Of Your System.

Humanity Has A Strange Fondness For Following Processions. Get Four Men Following A Banner Down The Street, And, If That Banner Is Inscribed With Rhymes Of Pleasant Optimism, In An Hour, All The Town Will Be Afoot, Ready To March To Whatever Tune The Leaders Care To Play.

In A Moment When Criticism Shows A Singular Dearth Of Direction Every Man Has To Be A Law Unto Himself In Matters Of Theatre, Writing, And Painting. While The American Mercury And The New Ford Continue To Spread A Thin Varnish Of Ritz Over The Whole United States There Is A Certain Virtue In Being Unfashionable.

Why Won't They Let A Year Die Without Bringing In A New One On The Instant, Can't They Use Birth Control On Time? I Want An Interregnum. The Stupid Years Patter On With Unrelenting Feet, Never Stopping - Rising To Little Monotonous Peaks In Our Imaginations At Festivals Like New Year's And Easter And Christmas - But, Goodness, Why Need They Do It?

The Gospel Of The Army Is Cunning, As Of All Other Human Activities. The Wisdom Of The Snake Under The Meekness Of The Sheep Is What Wins Out. The First Commandment Is--never Let Them Get Anything On You-- The Second: Graft--get Privileges Others Haven't Got--worm Yourself Into Confidence The Third--seem Neat And Prosperous--as If You Had Money In The Bank