An Unfortunate Thing About This World Is

Everyone Had Some Defect, Or Body Or Of Mind: He Thought Of All The People He Had Known (the Whole World Was Like A Sick House And There Was No Rhyme Or Reason In It), He Saw A Long Procession, Deformed In Body, Warped In Mind, Some With Illness Of The Flesh, Weak Hearts Or Weak Lungs, And Some With Illness Of The Spirit, Languor Of Will, Or Craving For Liquor. At That Moment He Felt A Holy Compassion For Them All. …the Words Of The Dying God Crossed His Memory: Forgive Them, For They Know Not What They Do.

It Is Astonishing How Many Books I Find There Is No Need For Me To Read At All.

The Writer Is More Concerned To Know Than To Judge.

Genius Is Talent Provided With Ideals. Genius Starves While Talent Wears Purple And Fine Linen. The Man Of Genius Of Today Will Infifty Years' Time Be In Most Cases No More Than A Man Of Talent.

Art, If It Is To Be Reckoned As One Of The Great Values Of Life, Must Teach Man Humility, Tolerance, Wisdom And Magnanimity. The Value Of Art Is Not Beauty, But Right Action.