Like A Graceful Vase, A Cat, Even

A Political Society Does Not Live To Conduct Foreign Policy; It Would Be More Correct To Say That It Conducts Foreign Policy In Order To Live.

Russia, Russia - Unwashed, Backward, Appealing Russia, So Ashamed Of Your Own Backwardness, So Orientally Determined To Conceal It From Us By Clever Deceit. So Sensitive And So Suspicious In The Face Of The Wicked, Civilized West. I Shall Always Remember You Slyly, Touchingly, But With Great Shouting And Confusion - Pumping Hot Water Into Our Sleeping Car In The Frosty Darkness Of A December Morning In Order That We Might Not Know, In Order That We Might Never Realize, To How Primitive A Land We Had Come.

I Lived, Particularly In Childhood But With Lessening Intensity Right On To Middle Age, In A World That Was Peculiarly And Intimately My Own, Scarcely To Be Shared With Others Or Even Made Plausible To Them. I Habitually Read Special Meanings Into Things, Scenes And Places Qualities Of Wonder, Beauty, Promise, Or Horror For Which There Was No External Evidence Visible Or Plausible To Others. My World Was Peopled With Mysteries, Seductive Hints, Vague Menaces, "intimations Of Immortality.

War Is A Highly Overrated Tool Of Foreign Policy.

There Is More Respect To Be Won In The Opinion Of This World By A Resolute And Courageous Liquidation Of Unsound Positions Than By The Most Stubborn Pursuit Of Extravagant Or Unpromising Objectives.