The Concert Is A Polite

There Is Nothing In Itself Which Is Wrong Or Evil Not Even Murder.

The Ordinary Man Is Involved In Action, The Hero Acts. An Immense Difference.

The World Dies Over And Over Again, But The Skeleton Always Gets Up And Walks.

Analysis Brings No Curative Powers In Its Train; It Merely Makes Us Conscious Of The Existence Of An Evil, Which, Oddly Enough, Is Consciousness.

When I Reflect That The Task Which The Artist Implicitly Sets Himself Is To Overthrow Existing Values, To Make Of The Chaos About Him An Order Which Is His Own, To Sow Strife And Ferment So That By The Emotional Release Those Who Are Dead May Be Restored To Life, Then It Is That I Run With Joy To The Great And Imperfect Ones, Their Confusion Nourishes Me, Their Stuttering Is Like Divine Music To My Ears.