Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

I Saw A Man Pursuing The Horizon;round And Round They Sped.i Was Disturbed At This;i Accosted The Man."it Is Futile," I Said,"you Can Never-""you Lie," He Cried,and Ran On.

Xxviii "truth," Said A Traveller, "is A Rock, A Mighty Fortress; "often Have I Been To It, "even To Its Highest Tower, "from Whence The World Looks Black." "truth," Said A Traveller, "is A Breath, A Wind, "a Shadow, A Phantom; "long Have I Pursued It, "but Never Have I Touched "the Hem Of Its Garment." And I Believed The Second Traveller; For Truth Was To Me A Breath, A Wind, A Shadow, A Phantom, And Never Had I Touched The Hem Of Its Garment.

It Perhaps Might Be Said--if Any One Dared--that The Most Worthless Literature Of The World Has Been That Which Has Been Written By The Men Of One Nation Concerning The Men Of Another.

A Man Said To The Universe: 'sir, I Exist!' 'however,' Replied The Universe. 'the Fact Has Not Created In Me A Sense Of Obligation.

A Man With A Full Stomach And The Respect Of His Fellows Had No Business To Scold About Anything That He Might Think To Be Wrong In The Ways Of The Universe, Or Even With The Ways Of Society. Let The Unfortunates Rail; The Others May Play Marbles.