It Was The Worst Hurt He Had

As For Me, You Wonder Why I Am A Socialist. I'll Tell You. It Is Because Socialism Is Inevitable; Because The Present Rotten And Irrational System Cannot Endure; Because The Day Is Past For Your Man On Horseback. The Slaves Won't Stand For It. They Are Too Many, And Willy-nilly They'll Drag Down The Would-be Equestrian Before He Gets Astride. You Can't Get Away From Them, And You'll Have To Swallow The Whole Slave-morality. It's Not A Nice Mess, I'll Allow. But It's Been A-brewing And Swallow It You Must.

To Have A Full Stomach, To Daze Lazily In The Sunshine--such Things Were Remuneration In Full For His Adors And Toils, While His Ardors And Toils Were In Themselves Self-remunerative. They Were Expressions Of Life, And Life Is Always Happy When It Is Expressing Itself.

The Greatest Of The Arts Is The Conquering Of Men.

The Man, With His Brain, Can Pierce The Intoxicating Mirage Of Things And Contemplate A Frozen Universe In The Most Perfect Indifference To Him And His Dreams.

I Remembered My Days And Nights Of Sunshine And Starshine, Where Life Was All A Wild Sweet Wonder, A Spiritual Paradise Of Unselfish Adventure And Ethical Romance. And I Saw Before Me, Ever Blazing And Burning, The Holy Grail.