There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.
The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.
The scab is a traitor to his God, his mother, and his class.
One cannot violate the promptings of one's nature without having that nature recoil upon itself.
San Francisco is gone. Nothing remains of it but memories.
Darn the wheel of the world! Why must it continually turn over? Where is the reverse gear?
