What’s the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when anthrax bombs are popping all around you?

Marble, I perceive, covers a multitude of sins.

Today we are faced, I think, with the approach of what may be called the ultimate revolution, the final revolution, where man can act directly on the mind-body of his fellows.

Impulse arrested spills over, and the flood is feeling, the flood is passion, the flood is even madness: it depends on the force of the current, the height and strength of the barrier. The unchecked stream flows smoothly down its appointed channels into a calm well being.

Idealism is the noble toga that political gentlemen drape over their will to power.

Both of us victims of the same twentieth-century plague. Not the Black Death, this time; the Gray Life.

I know the outer world as well as you do, and I judge it. You know nothing of my inner world, and yet you presume to judge that world.