The End Is Nothing; The

Alcohol Is Perfectly Consistent In Its Effects Upon Man. Drunkenness Is Merely An Exaggeration. A Foolish Man Drunk Becomes Maudlin; A Bloody Man, Vicious; A Coarse Man, Vulgar.

It Is A Tragic Hour, That Hour When We Are Finally Driven To Reckon With Ourselves, When Every Avenue Of Mental Distraction Has Been Cut Off And Our Own Life And All Its Ineffaceable Failures Closes About Us Like The Walls Of That Old Torture Chamber Of The Inquisition.

Pity Is Sworn Servant Unto Love: And This Be Sure, Wherever It Begin To Make The Way, It Lets Your Master In.

We Come And Go, But The Land Is Always Here. And The People Who Love It And Understand It Are The People Who Own It - For A Little While.

Ah! The Terror And The Delight Of That Moment When First We Fear Ourselves! Until Then We Have Not Lived.