I viddied that thinking is for the gloopy ones and that the oomny ones use like inspiration and what Bog sends. For now it was lovely music that came to my aid.

Where do I come into all of this? Am I just some animal or dog?' And that started them off govoreeting real loud and throwing slovos at me. So I creeched louder still, creeching: 'Am I just to be like a clockwork orange?

Art is rare and sacred and hard work, and there ought to be a wall of fire around it.

I see what is right and approve, but I do what is wrong.

Evil has to exist along with good, in order that moral choice may operate.

Ignorance and poverty are the best condiments for the great feast of the world, but the inexperienced and poor are never invited to it.

The next morning I woke up at oh eight oh oh hours, my brothers, and as I still felt shagged and fagged and fashed and bashed and my glazzies were stuck together real horrorshow with sleepglue, I thought I would not go to school.