Each Man's Life Represents A Road Toward

In My Brain Were Stored A Thousand Pictures.

The Bourgeois Prefers Comfort To Pleasure, Convenience To Liberty, And A Pleasant Temperature To The Deathly Inner Consuming Fire.

A Longing To Wander Tears My Heart When I Hear Trees Rustling In The Wind At Evening...

The World Was Beautiful When Looked At In This Way-without Any Seeking, So Simple, So Childlike.

We Kill When We Close Our Eyes To Poverty, Affliction, Or Infamy. We Kill When, Because It Is Easier, We Countenance, Or Pretend To Approve Of Atrophied Social, Political, Educational, And Religious Institutions, Instead Of Resolutely Combating Them.