What they, in their innocence, cannot comprehend is that a properly constituted, healthy, decent man never writes, acts, or composes.
What is uttered is finished and done with.
What is success? It is an inner, an indescribable force, resourcefulness, power of vision; a consciousness that I am, by my mere existence, exerting pressure on the movement of life about me.
What good would politics be, if it didn’t give everyone the opportunity to make moral compromises.
What a wonderful phenomenon it is, carefully considered, when the human eye, that jewel of organic structures, concentrates its moist brilliance on another human creature!
What a glorious gift is imagination, and what satisfaction it affords!
We, when we sow the seeds of doubt deeper than the most up-to-date and modish free-thought has ever dreamed of doing, we well know what we are about.
We are most likely to get angry and excited in our opposition to some idea when we ourselves are not quite certain of our own position, and are inwardly tempted to take the other side.
Tolerance becomes a crime when applied to evil.
Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunderstorm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols.
Time cools, time clarifies, no mood can be maintained quite unaltered through the course of hours.
This longing for the bliss of the commonplace.
