In Order That Knowledge Be

Yet, Every Now And Then, There Would Pass A Young Girl, Slender, Fair And Desirable, Arousing In Young Men A Not Ignoble Desire To Possess Her, And Stirring In Old Men Regrets For Ecstasy Not Seized And Now Forever Past.

There Are No Bad Books Any More Than There Are Ugly Women.

What Frightens Us Most In A Madman Is His Sane Conversation.

What Men Call Civilization Is The Condition Of Present Customs; What They Call Barbarism, The Condition Of Past Ones.

What We Call Happiness Is What We Do Not Know.