Writing Itself Is A Bad Enough Trade,

The Devil, Having Nothing Else To Do Went Off To Tempt My Lady Poltagrue. My Lady, Tempted By A Private Whim, To His Extreme Annoyance, Tempted Him.

I'm Tired Of Love; I'm Still More Tired Of Rhyme; But Money Gives Me Pleasure All The Time.

The Gentleman Is Generous And Treats All Men As His Equals, Especially Those Whom He Feels To Be Inferior In Rank And Wealth.

The Sea Drives Truth Into A Man Like Salt.

The Old Freedom Sufficiently Survives In The Mind Of The Wage Earner To Give Him The Illusion That, While Accepting Insurance And Maintenance From The Capitalist State, He Can Still Be A Full Citizen. He Thinks He Can Have His Cake And Eat It Too. He Is Mistaken. The Great Capitalists Who Procured These Regulations From The Politicians Knew What They Were At. They Were Catching Their Proletariat In A Net, And Now They Hold It Fast.