Why, Flowers Are Violent, Cruel, Terrible And

Nature’s Constantly Screaming With All Its Shapes And Scents: Love Each Other! Love Each Other! Do As The Flowers. There’s Only Love.

The Poor Are The Human Manure In Which Grow The Harvests Of Life, The Harvests Of Joy Which The Rich Reap.

You're Obliged To Pretend Respect For People And Institutions You Think Absurd. You Live Attached In A Cowardly Fashion To Moral And Social Conventions You Despise, Condemn, And Know Lack All Foundation.

Desire Can Attain The Darkest Human Terror And Give An Actual Ideal Of Hell And Its Horror.

Nothing Comes At All -- Never Anything. And I Cannot Accustom Myself To That. It Is This Monotony, This Absolute Fixity In Life, That Is The Hardest Thing For Me To Endure. I Should Like To Go Away From Here. Go Away? But Where And How? I Do Not Know, And I Stay.