‎the Greatest Danger Of A Terrorist's Bomb

Sheep Run To The Slaughterhouse, Silent And Hopeless, But At Least Sheep Never Vote For The Butcher Who Kills Them Or The People Who Devour Them. More Beastly Than Any Beast, More Sheepish Than Any Sheep, The Voter Names His Own Executioner And Chooses His Own Devourer, And For This Precious "right" A Revolution Was Fought.

Wherever He Goes, Whatever He Does, He Will Always See That Word: Murder—immortally Inscribed Upon The Pediment Of That Vast Slaughterhouse—humanity.

When One Tears Away The Veils And Shows Them Naked, People's Souls Give Off Such A Pungent Smell Of Decay.

There Is A Diabolical Streak In Me, A Troublesome And Inexplicable Perversity.

Why, Flowers Are Violent, Cruel, Terrible And Splendid... Like Love!