Our mechanical East is reproved, our tension is relaxed, our ugliness is challenged every time we look upon those garden paths and forests.
It is possible for Los Angeles to lay hold of the motion picture as our national text-book in Art as Boston appropriated to herself the guardianship of the national text-books of Literature.

If California has a shining soul, and not merely a golden body, let her forget her seventeen-year-old melodramatics, and turn to her poets who understand the heart underneath the glory.

Edwin Markham, the dean of American singers, Clark Ashton Smith, the young star treader, George Sterling, that son of Ancient Merlin, have in their songs the seeds of better scenarios than California has sent us.

There are two poems by George Sterling that I have had in mind for many a day as conceptions that should inspire mystic films akin to them.

These poems are The Night Sentries and Tidal King of Nations.
But California can tell us stories that are grim children of the tales of the wild Ambrose Bierce.