One Must Use The Weapons One Finds

The Savage Hatred I Feel For Crowds Is Getting Worse, Natural Enemies That They Are Of Imagination And Of Thought.

I Am Not Afraid Of Death, But Would Not Want To Die In Some Obscure Or Pointless Way.

I Will Only Ever Be Drawn To People Who Suffer From That Special And Fertile Anguish Called Self-doubt, Or The Thirst For The Ideal, And Desire For The Soul's Mystical Fire. Self-satisfaction Because Of Some Material Accomplishment Will Never Be For Me. The Truly Great Are Those Who Quest For Better Spiritual Selves.

I Am Full Of The Sorrow That Goes With Changes In Surroundings, Those Successive Stages Of Annihilation That Slowly Lead To The Great And Final Void.

A Subject To Which Few Intellectuals Ever Give A Thought Is The Right To Be A Vagrant, The Freedom To Wander. Yet Vagrancy Is A Deliverance, And Life On The Open Road Is The Essence Of Freedom. To Have The Courage To Smash The Chains With Which Modern Life Has Weighted Us (under The Pretext That It Was Offering Us More Liberty), Then To Take Up The Symbolic Stick And Bundle And Get Out.