All Professions Are Conspiracies Against The Laity.

To Be In Hell Is To Drift; To Be In Heaven Is To Steer.

But A Mother Is Like A Broomstick Or Like The Sun In The Heavens, It Does Not Matter Which As Far As One's Knowledge Of Her Is Concerned: The Broomstick Is There And The Sun Is There; And Whether The Child Is Beaten By It Or Warmed And Enlightened By It, It Accepts It As A Fact In Nature, And Does Not Conceive It As Having Had Youth, Passions, And Weaknesses, Or As Still Growing, Yearning, Suffering, And Learning.

I Feel Nothing But The Accursed Happiness I Have Dreaded All My Life Long: The Happiness That Comes As Life Goes, The Happiness Of Yielding And Dreaming Instead Of Resisting And Doing, The Sweetness Of The Fruit That Is Going Rotten.

I Prefer The Man Who Calls His Nonsense A Mystery To Him Who Who Pretends It Is A Weighed, Measured, Analyzed Fact.

The Liar's Punishment Is Not In The Least That He Is Not Believed, But That He Cannot Believe Anyone Else.