But What Really Matters Is Not What

Great Men Are Excellent Topics Of Conversation, But The Superior Man, The Superior Men, The Masters, The Universal Spirits On Horseback, Have To Stop And Search Their Memories Merely To Know Who These So-called Great Men Might Be. And So The Great Man Is Left With The Crowd, The Worthless Majority...for His Admirers.

One Must Know And Recognize Not Merely The Direct But The Secret Power Of The Word.

I Love Three Things," I Then Say. "i Love A Dream Of Love I Once Had, I Love You, And I Love This Patch Of Earth." "and Which Do You Love Best?" "the Dream.

Language Must Resound With All The Harmonies Of Music. The Writer Must Always, At All Times, Find The Tremulous Word Which Captures The Thing And Is Able To Draw A Sob From My Soul By Its Very Rightness.

And The Great Spirit Of Darkness Spread A Shroud Over Me...everything Was Silent-everything. But Upon The Heights Soughed The Everlasting Song, The Voice Of The Air, The Distant, Toneless Humming Which Is Never Silent.