The sum of human wisdom is not contained in any one language.

What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage.

A people that grows accustomed to sloppy writing is a people in the process of losing grip on its empire and on itself.

In case I conk out, this is provisionally what I have to do: I must clarify obscurities; I must make clearer definite ideas or dissociations. I must find a verbal formula to combat the rise of brutality--the principle of order versus the split atom.

The rustling of the silk is discontinued, Dust drifts over the courtyard, There is not sound of footfall, and the leaves Scurry into heaps and lie still, And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them: A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.

Nothing written for pay is worth printing. Only what has been written against the market.

Speak against unconscious oppression, Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative, Speak against bonds.