Anarchism Is A Game At Which The

I Am Sorry To Have To Introduce The Subject Of Christmas. It Is An Indecent Subject; A Cruel, Gluttonous Subject; A Drunken, Disorderly Subject; A Wasteful, Disastrous Subject; A Wicked, Cadging, Lying, Filthy, Blasphemous And Demoralizing Subject. Christmas Is Forced On A Reluctant And Disgusted Nation By The Shopkeepers And The Press: On Its Own Merits It Would Wither And Shrivel In The Fiery Breath Of Universal Hatred; And Anyone Who Looked Back To It Would Be Turned Into A Pillar Of Greasy Sausages.

Make Me A Beautiful Word For Doing Things Tomorrow; For That Surely Is A Great And Blessed Invention.

Schools And Schoolmasters, As We Have Them Today, Are Not Popular As Places Of Education And Teachers, But Rather Prisons And Turnkeys In Which Children Are Kept To Prevent Them Disturbing And Chaperoning Their Parent.

The Fact Is That The Intrinsic Worth Of The Book, Play Or Whatever The Author Is Trying To Sell Is The Least, Last Factor In The The Whole Transaction.

Heaven, As Conventionally Conceived, Is A Place So Inane, So Dull, So Useless, So Miserable That Nobody Has Ever Ventured To Describe A Whole Day In Heaven, Though Plenty Of People Have Described A Day At The Seaside.