The Universe Does Not Jest With Us,

If Any Mention Was Made Of Homicide, Madness, Adultery, And Intolerable Tortures, We Would Let The Church-bells Ring Louder, The Church-organ Swell Its Peal And Drown The Hideous Sound. The Sugar They Raised Was Excellent: Nobody Tasted Blood In It.

Nature Is Reckless Of The Individual. When She Has Points To Carry, She Carries Them.

Neither Is A Dictionary A Bad Book To Read. There Is No Can't In It, No Excess Of Explanation, And It Is Full Of Suggestion, The Raw Material Of Possible Poems And Histories.

The State Of Society Is One In Which The Members Have Suffered Amputation From The Trunk, And Strut About So Many Walking Monsters,—a Good Finger, A Neck, A Stomach, An Elbow, But Never A Man.

The Bitterest Tragic Element In Life To Be Derived From An Intellectual Source Is The Belief In A Brute Fate Or Destiny.