Every Man Is Dishonest Who Lives Upon

Shakespeare Was An Intellectual Ocean, Whose Waves Touched All The Shores Of Thought; Within Which Were All The Tides And Waves Of Destiny And Will; Over Which Swept All The Storms Of Fate, Ambition And Revenge; Upon Which Fell The Gloom And Darkness Of Despair And Death And All The Sunlight Of Content And Love, And Within Which Was The Inverted Sky Lit With The Eternal Stars -- An Intellectual Ocean -- Toward Which All Rivers Ran, And From Which Now The Isles And Continents Of Thought Receive Their Dew And Rain.

As Far As I Am Concerned I Wish To Be Out On The High Seas. I Wish To Take My Chances With Wind, And Wave, And Star. And I Had Rather Go Down In The Glory And Grandeur Of The Storm, Than Rot In Any Orthodox Harbor.

All That Is Necessary, As It Seems To Me, To Convince Any Reasonable Person That The Bible Is Simply And Purely Of Human Invention - Of Barbarian Invention - Is To Read It. Read It As You Would Any Other Book; Think Of It As You Would Of Any Other; Get The Bandage Of Reverence From Your Eyes; Drive From Your Heart The Phantom Of Fear; Push From The Throne Of Your Brain The Cowled Form Of Superstition - Then Read The Holy Bible, And You Will Be Amazed That You Ever, For One Moment, Supposed A Being Of Infinite Wisdom, Goodness And Purity, To Be The Author Of Such Ignorance And Of Such Atrocity.

With Their Backs To The Sunrise They Worship The Night.

To Hate Man And Worship God Seems To Be The Sum Of All The Creeds.