At Eight Or Nine, I Suppose Intelligence

Our Whole Practical Government Is Grounded In Mob Psychology And The Boobus Americanus Will Follow Any Command That Promises To Make Him Safer.

Hope: A Pathological Belief In The Occurrence Of The Impossible.

Every Man Is His Own Hell.

It Is Difficult To Imagine Anyone Having Any Real Hopes For The Human Race In The Face Of The Fact That The Great Majority Of Men Still Believe That The Universe Is Run By A Gaseous Vertebrate Of Astronomical Heft And Girth, Who Is Nevertheless Interested In The Minutest Details Of The Private Conduct Of Even The Meanest Man.

Life Is A Constant Oscillation Between The Sharp Horns Of Dilemmas.