The writer doesn't need economic freedom. All he needs is a pencil and some paper.

I know now that what makes a fool is an inability to take even his own good advice.

Surely there is something in madness, even the demoniac, which Satan flees, aghast at his own handiwork, and which God looks on in pity.

...I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire...I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.

One of the saddest things is that the only thing that a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can't eat...nor make love for eight hours...

The past is never dead. It's not even past.

I suppose that people, using themselves and each other so much by words, are at least consistent in attributing wisdom to a still tongue.