Marx, Darwin and Freud are the three most crashing bores of the Western World. Simplistic popularization of their ideas has thrust our world into a mental straitjacket from which we can only escape by the most anarchic violence.

Sleep is when all the unsorted stuff comes flying out as from a dustbin upset in a high wind.

Together, joined in effort by the burden, they staggered up the last steep of the mountain. Together, they chanted One! Two! Three! and crashed the log on to the great pile. Then they stepped back, laughing with triumphant pleasure.

Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.

Which is better--to have laws and agree, or to hunt and kill?

To be in a world which is a hell, to be of that world and neither to believe in or guess at anything but that world is not merely hell but the only possible damnation: the act of a man damning himself. It may be

One tries to tell a truth, and one hopes that the truth has a general application rather than just a specific one.