How True It Is That

Your Writer, Your Scientist, Your Chief Official, All Have Lost The Power To Revive The Early Illusion Concerning Fame And High Place. Their Beauty And Delight Is Like The Mirage In The Heavens, Only Plain To The Eye Outside; Within Is Nothing.

I Have Seen Youths Bright Eyed And Fair Groping After Bubbles In Rapture, And Conceiving Them Diamonds And The Glitter Of Fine Jewels, Until Their Hand Closed Over A Something That Was Not To Be Felt Nor Longer Seen, Mere Colored Air.

Dreiser Wanted To Write The Next Great American Novel, And His Desperation Pervades [ Sister Carrie ] Like An Unsavory Pit Stain.

We Are To Have No Pictures Which The Puritan And The Narrow, Animated By An Obsolete Dogma, Cannot Approve Of. We Are To Have No Theaters No Motion Pictures, No Books, No Public Exhibitions Of Any Kind, No Speech Even Which Will Anyway Contravene His Limited View Of Life.

When A Man, However Passively, Becomes An Obstacle To The Fulfillment Of A Woman's Desires, He Becomes An Odious Thing In Her Eyes, - Or Will, Given Time Enough.