Old Godheads Sink In Space And Drown

Pity The Meek, For They Shall Inherit The Earth.

If You Want To Get Rich From Writing, Write The Sort Of Thing That's Read By Persons Who Move Their Lips When They're Reading To Themselves.

No Form Of Government Matters Nearly As Much As The Spirit And Intelligence Brought To The Administration Of Any Form Of Government.

Between The Years Of Ninety-two And A Hundred And Two, However, We Shall Be The Ribald, Useless, Drunken, Outcast Person We Have Always Wished To Be. We Shall Have A Long White Beard And Long White Hair; We Shall Not Walk At All, But Recline In A Wheel Chair And Bellow For Alcoholic Beverages; In The Winter We Shall Sit Before The Fire With Our Feet In A Bucket Of Hot Water, A Decanter Of Corn Whiskey Near At Hand, And Write Ribald Songs Against Organized Society... We Look Forward To A Disreputable, Vigorous, Unhonoured, And Disorderly Old Age.

Fishing Is A Delusion Entirely Surrounded By Liars In Old Clothes.