The Great Tides And Currents Which Engulf

The Heroic Hours Of Life Do Not Announce Their Presence By Drum And Trumpet, Challenging Us To Be True To Ourselves By Appeals To The Martial Spirit That Keeps The Blood At Heat. Some Little, Unassuming, Unobtrusive Choice Presents Itself Before Us Slyly And Craftily, Glib And Insinuating, In The Modest Garb Of Innocence. . . . Then It Is That You Will Be Summoned To Show The Courage Of Adventurous Youth.

Prophecy, However Honest, Is Generally A Poor Substitute For Experience.

The Repetition Of A Catchword Can Hold Analysis In Fetters For Fifty Years Or More.

There Is In Each Of Us A Stream Of Tendency, Whether You Choose To Call It Philosophy Or Not, Which Gives Coherence And Direction To Thought And Action. Judges Cannot Escape That Current Any More Than Other Mortals.

We Seek To Find Peace Of Mind In The Word, The Formula, The Ritual. The Hope Is Illusion.