What I Really Do Is

As Subjects, We All Live In Suspense, From Day To Day, From Hour To Hour; In Other Words, We Are The Hero Of Our Own Story. We Cannot Believe That It Is Finished, That We Are 'finished,' Even Though We May Say So; We Expect Another Chapter, Another Installment, Tomorrow Or Next Week.

The Dictator Is Also The Scapegoat; In Assuming Absolute Authority, He Assumes Absolute Guilt; And The Oppressed Masses, Groaning Under The Yoke, Know Themselves To Be Innocent As Lambs, While They Pray Hypocritically For Deliverance.

Maybe Any Action Becomes Cowardly Once You Stop To Reason About It.

What I Really Do Is Take Real Plums And Put Them In An Imaginary Cake.

Congress-these, For The Most Part, Illiterate Hacks Whose Fancy Vests Are Spotted With Gravy, And Whose Speeches, Hypocritical, Unctuous, And Slovenly, Are Spotted Also With The Gravy Of Political Patronage.