Communism Is The Opiate Of The People.

It Is True That Even Across The Himalayan Barrier India Has Sent To The West, Such Gifts As Grammar And Logic, Philosophy And Fables, Hypnotism And Chess, And Above All Numerals And The Decimal System.

The World Wisely Prefers Happiness To Wisdom.

What If It Is For Life's Sake That We Must Die? In Truth We Are Not Individuals; And It Is Because We Think Ourselves Such That Death Seems Unforgivable. We Are Temporary Organs Of The Race, Cells In The Body Of Life; We Die And Drop Away That Life May Remain Young And Strong. If We Were To Live Forever, Growth Would Be Stifled, And Youth Would Find No Room On Earth. Death, Like Style, Is The Removal Of Rubbish, The Circumcision Of The Superfluous. In The Midst Of Death Life Renews Itself Immortally.

Truth Will Not Make Us Rich, But It Will Make Us Free.

Forced To Choose, The Poor, Like The Rich, Love Money More Than Political Liberty; And The Only Political Freedom Capable Of Enduring Is One That Is So Pruned As To Keep The Rich From Denuding The Poor By Ability Or Subtlety And The Poor From Robbing The Rich By Violence Or Votes.