In A Perfect Union The

Melancholy And Remorse Forms The Deep Leaden Keel Which Enables Us To Sail Into The Wind Of Reality.

Carelessness Is Not Fatal To Journalism, Nor Are Cliches, For The Eye Rests Lightly On Them. But What Is Intended To Be Read Once Can Seldom Be Read More Than Once; A Journalist Has To Accept The Fact That His Work, By Its Very Todayness, Is Excluded From Any Share In Tomorrow.

The River Of Truth Is Always Splitting Up Into Arms That Reunite. Islanded Between Them, The Inhabitants Argue For A Lifetime As To Which Is The Mainstream.

Better To Write For Yourself And Have No Public, Than To Write For The Public And Have No Self.

For What Is Liberty But The Unhampered Translation Of Will Into Act?