What Then In The Last

Out Of Damp And Gloomy Days, Out Of Solitude, Out Of Loveless Words Directed At Us, Conclusions Grow Up In Us Like Fungus: One Morning They Are There, We Know Not How, And They Gaze Upon Us, Morose And Gray. Woe To The Thinker Who Is Not The Gardener But Only The Soil Of The Plants That Grow In Him.

It Is Not In Our Hands To Prevent Our Birth; But We Can Correct This Mistake - For In Some Cases It Is A Mistake.

Has There Ever Been Anything Filthier On Earth Than The Saints In The Wilderness? Around Them Was Not Only The Devil Loose Around Them- But Also The Swine.

Hope, In Its Stronger Forms, Is A Great Deal More Powerful Stimulans To Life Than Any Sort Of Realized Joy Can Ever Be. Man Must Be Sustained In Suffering By A Hope So High That No Conflict With Actuality Can Dash It - So High, Indeed, That No Fulfilment Can Satisfy It: A Hope Reaching Out Beyond This World.

You Say A Good Cause Justifies Any War; But I Say A Good War Justifies Any Cause.