If It's To Be, It's

What Humbugs We Are, Who Pretend To Live For Beauty, And Never See The Dawn!

Only Those Who Get Into Scrapes With Their Eyes Open Can Find The Safe Way Out.

What Things There Are To Write, If One Could Only Write Them! My Mind Is Full Of Gleaming Thought; Gay Moods And Mysterious, Moth-like Meditations Hover In My Imagination, Fanning Their Painted Wings. But Always The Rarest, Those Streaked With Azure And The Deepest Crimson, Flutter Away Beyond My Reach.

The Emergence Of A New Term To Describe A Certain Phenomenon, Of A New Adjective To Designate A Certain Quality, Is Always Of Interest, Both Linguistically And From The Point Of View Of The History Of Human Thought.

We Need New Friends; Some Of Us Are Cannibals Who Have Eaten Their Old Friends Up; Others Must Have Ever-renewed Audiences Before Whom To Re-enact The Ideal Version Of Their Lives.