There are some times...when the love for people is strong and warm like a sorrow.

I suffer as always from the fear of putting down the first line. It is amazing the terrors, the magics, the prayers, the straitening shyness that assail one. It is as though the words were not only indelible but that they spread out like dye in water and color everything around them. A strange and mystic business, writing.

And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man.

The literature of science is filled with answers found when the question propounded had an entirely different direction and end.

You got a God. Don't make no difference if you don' know what he looks like.

Wherever there's a cop beatin' up a guy, I'll be there.

I believe there are techniques of the human mind whereby, in its dark deep, problems are examined, rejected or accepted. Such activities sometimes concern facets a man does not know he has. How often one goes to sleep troubled and full of pain, not knowing what causes the travail, and in the morning a whole new direction and a clearness is there, maybe the results of the black reasoning. And again there are mornings when ecstasy bubbles in the blood, and the stomach and chest are tight and electric with joy, and nothing in the thoughts to justify it or cause it.