The Passions Refuse To Be Organized On

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

Man Is A Living Lie--a Bitter Jest Upon Himself--a Conscious Grain Of Sand Lost In A Desert Of Unconsciousness.

Genius Has Oftenest Been The Pariah Of His Time, The Unhoused God Whom None Cared For, Unnamed Till They Whom He First Promoted, Enriched And Honored, Found It Honorable To Own Their Benefactor.

Genius--the Free And Harmonious Play Of All The Faculties Of A Human Being.

A Good Style Fits Like A Good Costume.