Half of tradition is a lie. - Stephen Crane

It perhaps might be said — if any one dared — that the most worthless literature of the world has been that which has been written by the men of one nation concerning the men of another.

If I should cast off this tattered coat, And go free into the mighty sky; If I should find nothing there But a vast blue, Echoless, ignorant — What then?

There were many who went in huddled procession,
They knew not wither,
But, at any rate, success or calamity
Would attend all in equality.

There was one who sought a new road,
He went into direful thickets,
And ultimately he died thus, alone;
But they said he had courage.