All Art Is Propaganda.

Perhaps It Is Only When People Are Somewhere Near The Starvation Level That They Have Anything To Sing About.

The Past Was Erased, The Erasure Was Forgotten, The Lie Became The Truth.

The Creatures Outside Looked From Pig To Man, And From Man To Pig, And From Pig To Man Again; But Already It Was Impossible To Say Which Was Which.

My Best Fishing-memory Is About Some Fish That I Never Caught.

A Man Who Gives A Good Account Of Himself Is Probably Lying, Since Any Life When Viewed From The Inside Is Simply A Series Of Defeats.