One of my greatest pleasures in my writing has come from the thought that perhaps my work might annoy someone of comfortably pretentious position. Then comes the realization that such people rarely read.

We are becoming the servants in thought, as in action of the machine we have created to serve us.

I've been writing a book called The Economics of Innocent Fraud. I published part of it already in The Progressive ("Free Market Fraud," January 1999). But I've been interrupted these last few months. It deals with all of the things we do, in an innocent way, to cover up the truth.

We shall have a race of men who are strong on telemetry and space communications but who cannot read anything but a blueprint or write anything but a computer program.

No hungry man who is also sober can be persuaded to use his last dollar for anything but food.

Authorship of any sort is a fantastic indulgence of the ego.

There is a common tendency to ignore the poor or to develop some rationalisation for the good fortune of the fortunate.