Construed As A Means Instead Of An

Youth As Glimpsed By Its Elders Is A Story That Comes From Afar, Showing Itself As Either Lovely To Look At Or A Torment To Endure.

I Begin To Understand That Failure Is Its Own Reward. It Is In The Effort To Close The Distance Between The Work Imagined And The Work Achieved Wherein It Is To Be Found That The Ceaseless Labor Is The Freedom Of Play, That What’s At Stake Isn’t A Reflection In The Mirror Of Fame But The Escape From The Prison Of The Self.

A Certain Kind Of Rich Man Afflicted With The Symptoms Of Moral Dandyism Sooner Or Later Comes To The Conclusion That It Isn't Enough Merely To Make Money. He Feels Obliged To Hold Views, To Espouse Causes And Elect Presidents, To Explain To A Trembling World How And Why The World Went Wrong.

Money Is Like Fire, An Element As Little Troubled By Moralizing As Earth, Air And Water. Men Can Employ It As A Tool Or They Can Dance Around It As If It Were The Incarnation Of A God. Money Votes Socialist Or Monarchist, Finds A Profit In Pornography Or Translations From The Bible, Commissions Rembrandt And Underwrites The Technology Of Auschwitz. It Acquires Its Meaning From The Uses To Which It Is Put.

More Than Illness Or Death, The American Journalist Fears Standing Alone Against The Whim Of His Owners Or The Prejudices Of His Audience. Deprive William Safire Of The Insignia Of The New York Times, And He Would Have A Hard Time Selling His Truths To A Weekly Broadsheet In Suburban Duluth.