A Slave Is One Who Waits For

The Apparition Of These Faces In The Crowd; Petals On A Wet Black Bough.

Your Mind And You Are Our Sargasso Sea.

The Only Chance For Victory Over The Brainwash Is The Right Of Every Man To Have His Ideas Judged One At A Time. You Never Get Clarity As Long As You Have These Packaged Words, As Long As A Word Is Used By Twenty-five People In Twenty-five Different Ways. That Seems To Me To Be The First Fight, If There Is Going To Be Any Intellect Left.

This Is No Book. Whoever Touches This Touches A Man.

Rhythm Is Form Cut Into Time.