Modern Poets Are Bells Of Lead. They

There Is No Beauty Or Romance Or Mystery In The Sea Except For The Men That Sail Abroad Upon It, And Those Who Stay At Home And Dream Of Them.

If One Who Looked From A Tower For A New Star, Watching For Years The Same Part Of The Sky, Suddenly Saw It (quite By Chance While Thinking Of Other Things), And Knew It For The Star For Which He Had Hoped, How Many Millions Of Men Would Never Care?

Logic, Like Whiskey, Loses Its Beneficial Effect When Taken In Too Large Quantities.

It Has Always Struck Me That One Of The Readiest Ways Of Estimating A Country's Regard For Law Is To Notice What Arms The Officers Of The Law Are Carrying: In England It Is Little Batons, In France Swords, In Many Countries Revolvers, And In Russia The Police Used To Have Artillery.

Humanity, Let Us Say, Is Like People Packed In A Automobile Which Is Traveling Downhill Without Lights At A Terrific Speed And Driven By A Four-year-old Child. The Signposts Along The Way Are All Marked "progress."