Suppose, My Dear Chadd, Suppose It Is

(tradition) Is The Democracy Of The Dead.

Facts By Themselves Can Often Feed The Flame Of Madness, Because Sanity Is A Spirit.

I Would Look At The First Chapter Of Any New Novel As A Final Test Of Its Merits. If There Was A Murdered Man Under The Sofa In The First Chapter, I Read The Story. If There Was No Murdered Man Under The Sofa In The First Chapter, I Dismissed The Story As Tea-table Twaddle, Which It Often Really Was.

Truth Can Understand Error, But Error Cannot Understand Truth.

In A World Flagrant With The Failures Of Civilization, What Is There Particularly Immortal About Our Own?