There Is No Rest For The Humble

It Is Of Men, And Of Them Only, That One Should Always Be Frightened.

Since Life Consists Of Madness Spiked With Lies, The Farther You Are From Each Other The More Lies You Can Put Into It And The Happier You'll Be. That's Only Natural And Normal. Truth Is Inedible.

The Whole Business Of Your Life Overwhelms You When You Live Alone. One's Stupefied By It. To Get Rid Of It You Try To Daub Some Of It Off On To People Who Come To See You, And They Hate That. To Be Alone Trains One For Death.

The Poetry Of Heroism Appeals Irresistibly To Those Who Don't Go To A War, And Even More To Those Whom The War Is Making Enormously Wealthy. It's Always So.

Poor People Never, Or Hardly Ever, Ask For An Explanation Of All They Have To Put Up With. They Hate One Another, And Content Themselves With That.