I Am In Revolt Against The Age-old

That Is The Accursed Thing About Small Surroundings -- They Make The Soul Small.

Each Bird Must Sing With His Own Throat.

It's Not Only What We Have Inherited From Our Father And Mother That Walks In Us. It's All Sorts Of Dead Ideas, And Lifeless Old Beliefs, And So Forth. They Have No Vitality, But They Cling To Us All The Same, And We Can't Get Rid Of Them.

I'm Plotting Revolution Against This Lie That The Majority Has A Monopoly Of The Truth. What Are These Truths That Always Bring The Majority Rallying Round? Truths So Elderly They Are Practically Senile. And When A Truth Is As Old As That, Gentlemen, You Can Hardly Tell It From A Lie.

A Party Is Like A Sausage Machine, It Grinds Up All Sorts Of Heads Together Into The Same Baloney.