Pity The Meek, For They Shall Inherit

What Man Calls Civilizationalways Results In Desertsman Is Never On The Squarehe Uses Up The Fat And Greenery Of The Eartheach Generation Wastes A Little Moreof The Future With Greed And Lust For Riches

The Art Of Newspaper Paragraphing Is To Stroke A Platitude Until It Purrs Like An Epigram.

When A Man Tells You That He Got Rich Through Hard Work, Ask Him: 'whose?'

As The Skull Of The Man Grows Broader, So Do His Creeds. And His Gods They Are Shaped In His Image And Mirror His Needs. And He Clothes Them With Thunders And Beauty, He Clothes Them With Music And Fire, Seeing Not, As He Bows By Their Altars, That He Worships His Own Desire.

The Things That I Can't Have I Want, And What I Have Seems Second-rate, The Things I Want To Do I Can't, And What I Have To Do I Hate.