All Men Are Brothers And Each Man

I Am Too Sick To Work And Haven't Money Enough To Last 2 Months And Pay Income Tax. I Want To Keep Going But Do Not See Quite How, And There Is No Alternative - Rather Than Justify My Mother's 25-year Dread Of My "coming Back On Her, Sick," I Must Kill Myself. If She Has To Pay Funeral Costs, At Least She Will Cut Them To The Bone And I Will Not Be Here To Endure Her Martyrdom And Prolong It By Living.

Anyone Who Says That Economic Security Is A Human Right, Has Been To Much Babied. While He Babbles, Other Men Are Risking And Losing Their Lives To Protect Him. They Are Fighting The Sea, Fighting The Land, Fighting Disease And Insects And Weather And Space And Time, For Him, While He Chatters That All Men Have A Right To Security And That Some Pagan God—society, The State, The Government, The Commune—must Give It To Them. Let The Fighting Men Stop Fighting This Inhuman Earth For One Hour, And He Will Learn How Much Security There Is.

Life Is A Thin Narrowness Of Taken-for-granted, A Plank Over A Canyon In A Fog.

I Somehow Always Have This Idea That As Soon As I Can Get Through This Work That's Piled Up Ahead Of Me, I'll Really Write A Beautiful Thing. But I Never Do. I Always Have The Idea That Someday, Somehow, I'll Be Living A Beautiful Life.

Constant Repetition Dulls Receptivity.