New York, The Nation's Thyroid

Truth And Beauty (perhaps Keats Was Wrong In Identifying Them: Perhaps They Have The Relation Of Wit And Humour, Or Rain And Rainbow) Are Of Interest Only To Hungry People. There Are Several Kinds Of Hunger. If Socrates, Spinoza, And Santayana Had Had Free Access To A Midnight Icebox We Would Never Have Heard Of Them. Shall I Be Ashamed Of My Little Mewing Truths?... I Ask To Be Forgiven: They Are Such Tiny Ones.

No One Appreciates The Very Special Genius Of Your Conversation As The Dog Does.

The Real Purpose Of Books Is To Trap The Mind Into Doing Its Own Thinking.

New York, The Nation's Thyroid Gland.

Standing By The Crib Of One's Own Baby, With That World - Old Pang Of Compassion And Protectiveness Toward This So Little Creature That Has All Its Course To Run, The Heart Flies Back In Yearning And Gratitude To Those Who Felt Just So Toward One's Self. Then For The First Time One Understands The Homely Succession Of Sacrifices And Pains By Which Life Is Transmitted And Fostered Down The Stumbling Generations Of Men.