It Is Only In The World Of

Gin And Drugs, Dear Lady, Gin And Drugs.

We Know Too Much, And Are Convinced Of Too Little. Our Literature Is A Substitute For Religion, And So Is Our Religion.

There Are Flood And Drought Over The Eyes And In The Mouth, Dead Water And Dead Sand Contending For The Upper Hand. The Parched Eviscerate Soil Gapes At The Vanity Of Toil, Laughs Without Mirth. This Is The Death Of The Earth.

It Is Impossible To Design A System So Perfect That No One Needs To Be Good.

Sometimes Things Become Possible If We Want Them Bad Enough.