The Habit Of Doing One's Duty Drives

It Is From The Womb Of Art That Criticism Was Born.

Any Newspaper, From The First Line To The Last, Is Nothing But A Web Of Horrors, I Cannot Understand How An Innocent Hand Can Touch A Newspaper Without Convulsing In Disgust.

Progress, This Great Heresy Of Decay.

We Are All Born Marked For Evil.

What Is Art? Prostitution.