Love Is The Sum Of All The

I Love The Flesh. I'm A Pagan. "who Are They Who Speak Evil Of The Clay? The Very Stars Are Made Of Clay Like Mine!"

There Are, Broadly Speaking, Two Types Of Drinkers. There Is The Man Whom We All Know, Stupid, Unimaginative, Whose Brain Is Bitten Numbly By Numb Maggots; Who Walks Generously With Wide-spread, Tentative Legs, Falls Frequently In The Gutter, And Who Sees, In The Extremity Of His Ecstasy, Blue Mice And Pink Elephants.... The Other Type Of Drinker Has Imagination, Vision. Even When Most Pleasantly Jingled He Walks Straight And Naturally, Never Staggers Nor Falls, And Knows Just Where He Is And What He Is Doing. It Is Not His Body But His Brain That Is Drunken.

The Scab Is A Traitor To His God, His Mother, And His Class.

Darn The Wheel Of The World! Why Must It Continually Turn Over? Where Is The Reverse Gear?

Some Sorts Of Truth Are Truer Than Others.