Man Hoards Himself When He Has Nothing

Man Pines To Live But Cannot Endure The Days Of His Life.

Though Man Is The Only Beast That Can Write, He Has Small Reason To Be Proud Of It. When He Utters Something That Is Wise It Is Nothing That The River Horse Does Not Know, And Most Of His Creations Are The Result Of Accident.

We Cannot Live, Suffer Or Die For Somebody Else, For Suffering Is Too Precious To Be Shared.

We Are Always Talking About Being Together, And Yet Whatever We Invent Destroys The Family, And Makes Us Wild, Touchless Beasts Feeding On Technicolor Prairies And Rivers.

It Is Hideous And Coarse To Assume That We Can Do Something For Others-and It Is Vile Not To Endeavor To Do It.