There Is No Slavery But Ignorance.

Language Is Not Subtle Enough, Tender Enough, To Express All That We Feel; And When Language Fails, The Highest And Deepest Longings Are Translated Into Music. Music Is The Sunshine - The Climate - Of The Soul, And It Floods The Heart With A Perfect June.

We All Know That Men In Moderate Circumstances Can Have Just As Comfortable Houses As The Richest, Just As Comfortable Clothing, Just As Good Food. They Can See Just As Fine Paintings, Just As Marvelous Statues, And They Can Hear Just As Good Music. They Can Attend The Same Theaters And The Same Operas. They Can Enjoy The Same Sunshine, And Above All, Can Love And Be Loved Just As Well As Kings And Millionaires.

All Religion Is Slavery.

Shakespeare Was An Intellectual Ocean, Whose Waves Touched All The Shores Of Thought; Within Which Were All The Tides And Waves Of Destiny And Will; Over Which Swept All The Storms Of Fate, Ambition And Revenge; Upon Which Fell The Gloom And Darkness Of Despair And Death And All The Sunlight Of Content And Love, And Within Which Was The Inverted Sky Lit With The Eternal Stars -- An Intellectual Ocean -- Toward Which All Rivers Ran, And From Which Now The Isles And Continents Of Thought Receive Their Dew And Rain.

And Yet This Same Deity Says To Me, Resist Not Evil; Pray For Those That Despitefully Use You; Love Your Enemies, But I Will Eternally Damn Mine. It Seems To Me That Even Gods Should Practice What They Preach.