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A fierce unrest seethes at the core, of all existing things:, it was the eager wish to soar, that gave the gods their wings.
Between the years of ninety-two and a hundred and two, however, we shall be the ribald, useless, drunken, outcast person we have always wished to be. We shall have a long white beard and long white hair; we shall not walk at all, but recline in a wheel chair and bellow for alcoholic beverages; in the winter we shall sit before the fire with our feet in a bucket of hot water, a decanter of corn whiskey near at hand, and write ribald songs against organized society; strapped to one arm of our chair will be a forty-five calibre revolver, and we shall shoot out the lights when we want to go to sleep, instead of turning them off; when we want air we shall throw a silver candlestick through the front window and be damned to it; we shall address public meetings in a vein of jocund malice. We shall but we dont wish to make any one envious of the good time that is coming to us We look forward to a disreputable, vigorous, unhonoured, and disorderly old age.
If a child shows himself to be incorrigible, he should be decently and quietly beheaded at the age of twelve, lest he grow to maturity marry, and perpetuate his kind.
If you make people think they're thinking, they'll love you But if you really make them think, they'll hate you.
Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.
We pay for the mistakes of our ancestors, and it seems only fair that they should leave us the money to pay with.