Too Much Work And Too Much Energy

And No One Shall Work For Money, And No One Shall Work For Fame, But Each For The Joy Of The Working, And Each, In His Separate Star, Shall Draw The Thing As He Sees It For The God Of Things As They Are!

It Was The Forty-fathom Slumber That Clears The Soul And Eye And Heart, And Sends You To Breakfast Ravening. They Emptied A Big Tin Dish Of Juicy Fragments Of Fish- The Blood-ends The Cook Had Collected Overnight. They Cleaned Up The Plates And Pans Of The Elder Mess, Who Were Out Fishing, Sliced Pork For The Midday Meal, Swabbed Down The Foc'sle, Filled The Lamps, Drew Coal And Water For The Cook, An Investigated The Fore-hold, Where The Boat's Stores Were Stacked. It Was Another Perfect Day - Soft, Mild And Clear; And Harvey Breathed To The Very Bottom Of His Lungs.

Politicians. Little Tin Gods On Wheels.

Take Everything You Like Seriously, Except Yourselves.

And That After This Is Accomplished, And The Brave New World Begins, When All Men Are Paid For Existing And No Man Must Pay For His Sins.