It's The Person Who Would Sell His

A Man Who Seeks Escape From The Responsibility Of Supporting His Life By His Own Thought And Effort, And Wishes To Survive By Conquering, Ruling And Exploiting Others, Is Not An Individualist.

But I Still Wonder How It Was Possible, In Those Graceless Years Of Transition, Long Ago, That Men Did Not See Whither They Were Going, And Went On, In Blindness And Cowardice, To Their Fate. I Wonder, For It Is Hard For Me To Conceive How Men Who Knew The Word "i," Could Give It Up And Not Know What They Lost. But Such Has Been The Story, For I Have Lived In The City Of The Damned, And I Know What Horror Men Permitted To Be Brought Upon Them.

Every Coercive Monopoly Was Created By Government Intervention Into The Economy: By Special Privileges, Such As Franchises Or Subsidies, Which Closed The Entry Of Competitors Into A Given Field, By Legislative Action.

The Pressure Disappeared With The First Word He Put On Paper. He Thought--while His Hand Moved Rapidly--what A Power There Was In Words; Later, For Those Who Heard Them, But First For The One Who Found Them; A Healing Power, A Solution, Like The Breaking Of A Barrier. He Thought, Perhaps The Basic Secret The Scientists Have Not Discovered, The First Fount Of Life, Is That Which Happens When A Thought Takes Shape In Words.

I Like To Think Of Fire Held In A Man's Hand. Fire, A Dangerous Force, Tamed At His Fingertips. I Often Wonder About The Hours When A Man Sits Alone, Watching The Smoke Of A Cigarette, Thinking. I Wonder What Great Things Have Come From Such Hours. When A Man Thinks, There Is A Spot Of Fire Alive In His Mind--and It Is Proper That He Should Have The Burning Point Of A Cigarette As His One Expression.