Sex Is The Mysticism Of Materialism.

I Suppose That Every Age Has Its Own Particular Fantasy: Ours Is Science. A Seventeenth-century Man Like Blaise Pascal, Who Thought Himself A Mathematician And Scientist Of Genius, Found It Quite Ridiculous That Anyone Should Suppose That Rational Processes Could Lead To Any Ultimate Conclusions About Life, But Easily Accepted The Authority Of The Scriptures. With Us, It Is The Other Way `round

Supposing You Eliminated Suffering, What A Dreadful Place The World Would Be! I Would Almost Rather Eliminate Happiness. The World Would Be The Most Ghastly Place Because Everything That Corrects The Tendency Of This Unspeakable Little Creature, Man, To Feel Over-important And Over-pleased With Himself Would Disappear. He's Bad Enough Now, But He Would Be Absolutely Intolerable If He Never Suffered.

Like A Prisoner Awaiting His Release, Like A Schoolboy When The End Of Term Is Near, Like A Migrant Bird Ready To Fly South ... I Long To Be Gone.

One Of The Peculiar Sins Of The Twentieth Century Which We've Developed To A Very High Level Is The Sin Of Credulity. It Has Been Said That When Human Beings Stop Believing In God They Believe In Nothing. The Truth Is Much Worse: They Believe In Anything.

On Television I Feel Like A Man Playing Piano In A Brothel; Every Now And Again He Solaces Himself By Playing 'abide With Me' In The Hope Of Edifying Both The Clients And The Inmates