I Know But One Freedom And That

When The Body Sinks Into Death, The Essence Of Man Is Revealed. Man Is A Knot, A Web, A Mesh Into Which Relationships Are Tied. Only Those Relationships Matter. The Body Is An Old Crock That Nobody Will Miss. I Have Never Known A Man To Think Of Himself When Dying. Never.

My Drawing Was Not A Picture Of A Hat. It Was A Picture Of A Boa Constrictor Digesting An Elephant.

I Shall Never Again Admire A Merely Brave Man.

I Know A Planet Where There Is A Certain Red-faced Gentleman. He Has Never Smelled A Flower. He Has Never Looked At A Star. He Has Never Loved Any One. He Has Never Done Anything In His Life But Add Up Figures. And All Day He Says Over And Over, Just Like You: 'i Am Busy With Matters Of Consequence!' And That Makes Him Swell Up With Pride. But He Is Not A Man - He Is A Mushroom!

Vain Is The Hope Of Finding Pleasure In That Which One Has Hitherto Disdained; As When The Warrior Hopes To Find Pleasure In The Joys Of The Sedentaries.