Although I Cannot Lay An Egg, I

I Would Like To Take You Seriously, But To Do So Would Be An Affront To Your Intelligence.

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!

The Secret Of Being Miserable Is To Have Leisure To Bother About Whether You Are Happy Or Not. The Cure For It Is Occupation, Because Occupation Means Pre-occupation; And The Pre-occupied Person Is Neither Happy Nor Unhappy, But Simply Alive And Active. That Is Why It Is Necessary To Happiness That One Should Be Tired.

Marx's Kapital Is Not A Treatise On Socialism; It Is A Gerrymand Against The Bourgeoisie. It Was Supposed To Be Written For The Working Class, But The Working Man Respects The Bourgeoisie And Wants To Be A Bourgeoisie. Marx Never Got A Hold Of Him For A Moment. It Was The Revolting Sons Of The Bourgeoisie Itself, Like Myself, That Painted The Flag Red. The Middle And Upper Classes Are The Revolutionary Element In Society. The Proletariat Is The Conservative Element.

The Devil Can Quote Shakespeare For His Own Purpose.