I Just Put On What The Lady

The Old Wanderlust Had Gotten Into His Blood, The Joy Of The Unbound Life, The Joy Of Seeking, Of Hoping Without Limit.

Consider Christmas - Could Satan In His Most Malignant Mood Have Devised A Worse Combination Of Graft Plus Bunkum Than The System Whereby Several Hundred Million People Get A Billion Or So Gifts For Which They Have No Use, And Some Thousands Of Shop Clerks Die Of Exhaustion While Selling Them, And Every Other Child In The Western World Is Made Ill From Overeating - All In The Name Of The Lowly Jesus?

I Am Sustained By A Sense Of The Worthwhileness Of What I Am Doing; A Trust In The Good Faith Of The Process Which Created And Sustains Me. That Process I Call God.

I Aimed At The Public's Heart, And By Accident I Hit It In The Stomach.

They Were The Triumphant And Insolent Possessors; They Had A Hall, And A Fire, And Food And Clothing And Money, And So They Might Preach To Hungry Men, And The Hungry Men Must Be Humble And Listen. They Were Trying To Save Their Souls- And Who But A Fool Could Fail To See That All That Was The Matter With Their Souls Was That They Had Not Managed To Get A Decent Existence For Their Bodies?