All Great Art And Literature Is Propaganda.

Sister, You're Trying To Keep Me Alive As An Old Curiosity, But I'm Done, I'm Finished, I'm Going To Die.

Your Wits Can't Thicken In That Soft Moist Air, On Those White Springy Roads, In Those Misty Rushes And Brown Bogs, On Those Hillsides Of Granite Rocks And Magenta Heather. You've No Such Colours In The Sky, No Such Lure In The Distances, No Such Sadness In The Evenings. Oh The Dreaming! The Dreaming! The Torturing, Heart-scalding, Never Satisfying Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming!

Englishmen Never Will Be Slaves; They Are Free To Do Whatever The Government And Public Opinion Allow Them.

Whenever You Wish To Do Anything Against The Law, Cicely, Always Consult A Good Solicitor First.

Popular Christianity Has For Its Emblem A Gibbet, For Its Chief Sensation A Sanginary Execution After Torture, For Its Central Mystery Is An Insane Vengeance Bought Off By A Trumpery Expiation. But There Is A Nobler And Profounder Christianity Which Affirms The Sacred Mystery Of Equality And Forbids The Glaring Futility And Folly Of Vengeance.