There Is A Part Of Me In

Marxism Has Not Only Failed To Promote Human Freedom, It Has Failed To Produce Food.

But What's The Good Of Freedom? What Can You Do With It? What One Wants Is To Live Well And Have A Beautiful House And Be Respected By People.

Why, Lies Are Like A Sticky Juice Overspreading The World, A Living, Growing Flypaper To Catch And Gum The Wings Of Every Human Soul. . . And The Little Helpless Buzzings Of Honest, Liberal, Kindly People, Aren't They Like The Thin Little Noise Flies Make When They're Caught?

Talk Is A Pure Art. Its Only Limits Are The Patience Of Listeners Who, When They Get Tired, Can Always Pay For Their Coffee Or Change It With A Friendly Waiter And Walk Out.

Hemingway Always Used To Bawl Me Out For Including So Much Topical Stuff. He Always Claimed That Was A Great Mistake, That In Fifty Years Nobody Would Understand. He May Have Been Right; It's Getting To Be True.