It Is Very, Very Difficult For A

Watching Italian Opera, All Those Male Sopranos Screeching, Stupid Fat Couples Rolling Their Eyes About. That's Not Love, It's Just Rubbish.

Worship Isn't Destructive, Martin. I Know That. I Don't. I Only Know It's The Core Of His Life. What Else Has He Got? He Can Hardly Read. He Knows No Physics Or Engineering To Make To World Real For Him. No Paintings To Show Him How Others Have Enjoyed It. No Music Except Television Jingles. No History Except Tales From A Desperate Mother. No Friends. Not One Kid To Give Him A Joke, Or Make Him Know Himself More Moderately. He's A Modern Citizen For Whom Society Doesn't Exist.

And In Fact, I Think One Of The Best Guides To Telling You Who You Are, And I Think Children Use It All The Time For This Purpose, Is Fantasy.

Goodness Is Nothing In The Furnace Of Art.

A Child Is Born Into A World Of Phenomena All Equal In Their Power To Enslave.