And when that crop grew, and was harvested, no man had crumbled a hot clod in his fingers and let the earth sift past his fingertips. No man had touched the seed, or lusted for the growth. Men ate what they had not raised, had no connection with the bread. The land bore under iron, and under iron gradually died; for it was not loved or hated, it had no prayers or curses.

I know this... a man got to do what he got to do.

I have noticed that there is no dissatisfaction like that of the rich. Feed a man, clothe him, put him in a good house, and he will die of despair.

So many old and lovely things are stored in the world's attic because we don't want them around us and we don't dare throw them out.

There's an awful lot of inactive kindness which is nothing but laziness, not wanting any trouble, confusion, or effort.

Socialism is just another form of religion, and thus delusional.

There is comfort in routine.