While We Ourselves Are The Living Graves

Your Wits Can't Thicken In That Soft Moist Air, On Those White Springy Roads, In Those Misty Rushes And Brown Bogs, On Those Hillsides Of Granite Rocks And Magenta Heather. You've No Such Colours In The Sky, No Such Lure In The Distances, No Such Sadness In The Evenings. Oh The Dreaming! The Dreaming! The Torturing, Heart-scalding, Never Satisfying Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming, Dreaming!

We Are All Victims Of The Violence That Animals Suffer... Their Liberation Is Also Our Liberation.

There Are Two Things Necessary To Salvation.... Money And Gunpowder.

We Should Find Ourselves Committed To Killing A Great Many People Whom We Now Leave Living, And To Leave Living A Great Many People Whom We At Present Kill. We Should Have To Get Rid Of All Ideas About Capital Punishment.

The More A Man Possesses Over And Above What He Uses, The More Careworn He Becomes.