Every Word Is A Prejudice.

The Beating Of Drums, Which Delights Young Writers Who Serve A Party, Sounds To Him Who Does Not Belong To The Party Line Like A Rattling Of Chains, And Excites Sympathy Rather Than Admiration.

Acknowledge Your Will And Speak To Us All, "this Alone Is What I Will To Be!" Hang Your Own Penal Code Up Above You: We Want To Be Its Enforcers!

After Buddha Was Dead, His Shadow Was Still Shown For Centuries In A Cave.

I Am Afraid That Old Women Are More Skeptical In Their Most Secret Heart Of Hearts Than Any Man: They Believe In The Superficiality Of Existence As In Its Essence, And All Virtue And Profundity Is To Them Merely A Veil Over This "truth," A Most Welcome Veil Over A Pudendum--and So A Matter Of Decency And Modesty, And Nothing Else.

Winter, A Bad Guest, Sitteth With Me At Home; Blue Are My Hands With His Friendly Handshaking