London, How Could One Ever Be Tired

I Confidently Predict The Collapse Of Capitalism And The Beginning Of History. Something Will Go Wrong In The Machinery That Converts Money Into Money, The Banking System Will Collapse Totally, And We Will Be Left Having To Barter To Stay Alive. Those Who Can Dig In Their Garden Will Have A Better Chance Than The Rest. I'll Be All Right; I've Got A Few Veg.

I'd Rather Be At The End Of A Dying Tradition, Which I Admire, Than At The Beginning Of A Tradition Which I Deplore.

When Nothing Is Sure, Everything Is Possible.

Lord Knows What Incommunicable Small Terrors Infants Go Through, Unknown To All. We Disregard Them, We Say They Forget, Because They Have Not The Words To Make Us Remember. ... By The Time They Learn To Speak They Have Forgotten The Details Of Their Complaints, And So We Never Know. They Forget So Quickly, We Say, Because We Cannot Contemplate The Fact That They Never Forget.

Because If One Has An Image, However Dim And Romantic, Of A Journey's End, One May, In The End, Surely Reach It, After No Matter How Many Detours And Deceptions And Abandonings Of Hope. And Hope Could Never Have Been Entirely Abandoned, Even In The Worst Days.