The American Language Is In A State

There Cannot Be A Personal God Without A Pessimistic Religion. As Soon As There Is A Personal God He Is A Disappointing God.

If Montaigne Is A Man In The Prime Of Life Sitting In His Study On A Warm Morning And Putting Down The Sum Of His Experience In His Rich, Sinewy Prose, Then Pascal Is That Same Man Lying Awake In The Small Hours Of The Night When Death Seems Very Close And Every Thought Is Heightened By The Apprehension That It May Be His Last.

The River Of Truth Is Always Splitting Up Into Arms That Reunite. Islanded Between Them, The Inhabitants Argue For A Lifetime As To Which Is The Mainstream.

The Worst Vice Of The Solitary Is The Worship Of His Food.

The Disasters Of The World Are Due To Its Inhabitants Not Being Able To Grow Old Simultaneously. There Is Always A Raw And Intolerant Nation Eager To Destroy The Tolerant And Mellow.