You Have First An Instinct, Then An

Books Are For Nothing But To Inspire

The Religions Of The World Are The Ejaculations Of A Few Imaginative Men.

When We Are Exalted By Ideas, We Do Not Owe This To Plato, But To The Idea, To Which Also Plato Was Debtor.

If Thou Fill Thy Brain With Boston And New York, With Fashion And Covetousness, And Wilt Stimulate Thy Jaded Senses With Wine And French Coffee, Thou Shalt Find No Radiance Of Wisdom In The Lonely Waste Of The Pinewoods.

Life Loiters At The Book's First Page,-- Ah! Could We Turn The Leaf.