Proctor--he Knows It Is Insane: No, It

Look, We're All The Same; A Man Is A Fourteen-room House - In The Bedroom He's Asleep With His Intelligent Wife, In The Living-room He's Rolling Around With Some Bare Ass Girl, In The Library He's Paying His Taxes, In The Yard He's Raising Tomatoes And In The Cellar He's Making A Bomb To Blow It All Up.

Can Anyone Remember Love? It's Like Trying To Summon Up The Smell Of Roses In A Cellar. You Might See A Rose, But Never The Perfume.

In A Dream, We Are Simply Confronted With Various Loaded Symbols, And Where One Is Exhausted, It Gives Way To Another.

What Work You Do! It's Strange Work For A Christian Girl To Hang Old Women!

Proctor, His Mind Wild, Breathless: I Say--i Say--god Is Dead!