Beware Of The Conversationalist Who Adds "in

Everybody Thinks Of Others As Being Excessively Human, With All The Frailties And Crotchets Appertaining To That Curious Condition. But Each Of Us Also Seems To Regard Himself As Existing On A Detached Plane Of Observation, Exempt (save In Moments Of Avid Crisis) From The Strange Whims Of Humanity En Masse.

America Is Still A Government Of The Naive, For The Naive, And By The Naive. He Who Does Not Know This, Nor Relish It, Has No Inkling Of The Nature Of His Country.

A Critic Is A Gong At A Railroad Crossing Clanging Loudly And Vainly As The Train Goes By.

Poetry Comes With Anger, Hunger And Dismay; It Does Not Often Visit Groups Of Citizens Sitting Down To Be Literary Together, And Would Appal Them If It Did.

There Are Three Ingredients In The Good Life: Learning, Earning And Yearning.