We Cannot Live Without The Earth Or

Hemingway, Damn His Soul, Makes Everything He Writes Terrifically Exciting (and Incidentally Makes All Us Second-raters Seem Positively Adolescent) By The Seemingly Simple Expedient Of The Iceberg Principle - Three-fourths Of The Substance Under The Surface. He Comes Closer That Way To Retaining The Magic Of The Original, Unexpressed Idea Or Emotion, Which Is Always More Stirring Than Any Words. But Just Try And Do It!

Now, Having Left Cities Behind Me, Turned Away Forever From The Strange, Gregarious Huddling Of Men By Stones, I Find Those Various Great Towns I Knew Fused Into One, Burned Together In The Fire Of My Despising.

I Can Only Tell You That When Long Soul-searching And A Combination Of Circumstances Delivered Me Of My Last Prejudices, There Was An Exalted Sense Of Liberation. It Was Not The Negro Who Became Free, But I.

A Man'll Seem Like A Person To A Woman, Year In, Year Out. She'll Put Up And She'll Put Up. Then One Day He'll Do Something Maybe No Worse Than What He's Been A-doing All His Life. She'll Look At Him. And Without No Warning He'll Look Like A Varmint.

To Comfort Any Mortal Against Loneliness, One Other Is Enough.