Were It Not For Love, Poor Life

Are We No Greater Than The Noise We Make Along One Blind Atomic Pilgrimage Whereon By Crass Chance Billeted We Go Because Our Brains And Bones And Cartilage Will Have It So?

Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks Of Time, Tiering The Same Dull Webs Of Discontent, Clipping The Same Sad Alnage Of The Years.

Seizing The Swift Logic Of A Woman, Curse God And Die.

It Is Impossible To Understand The Economic System In Which We Are Living If We Try To Interpret It As A Rational Scheme.it Has To Be Understood As An Awkward Phase In A Continuing Process Of Historical Development.

Ah, When Shall Come Love's Courage To Be Strong! Tell Me, O Lord--tell Me, O Lord, How Long Are We To Keep Christ Writhing On The Cross!