Say what you like about my bloody murderous government,' I says, 'but don't insult me poor bleedin' country.

Whenever I read _Time_ or _Newsweek_ or such magazines, I wash my hands afterward. But how to wash off the small but odious stain such reading leaves on the mind?

The result of this bestial lust is an indiscriminate and promiscuous splaying of all of my energies- wanting all, I accomplish nothing; desiring everything, I satisfy nothing and am satisfied by nothing.

Filling out the form: Race? Human. Religion? Paiute. Occupation? Criminal anarchy. Hobbies? Survival with honor.

The greater your dreams, the more terrible your nightmares.

Nature, like Maimonides said, is mainly a good place to throw beer cans on Sunday afternoons.

What is truth? I don't know and I'm sorry I brought it up.