The Ego Is Willing But The Machine

If I Were Rich I Would Have Many Books, And I Would Pamper Myself With Bindings Bright To The Eye And Soft To The Touch, Paper Generously Opaque, And Type Such As Men Designed When Printing Was Very Young. I Would Dress My Gods In Leather And Gold, And Burn Candles Of Worship Before Them At Night, And String Their Names Like Beads On A String.

Forced To Choose, The Poor, Like The Rich, Love Money More Than Political Liberty; And The Only Political Freedom Capable Of Enduring Is One That Is So Pruned As To Keep The Rich From Denuding The Poor By Ability Or Subtlety And The Poor From Robbing The Rich By Violence Or Votes.

Civilization Is A Stream With Banks. The Stream Is Sometimes Filled With Blood From People Killing, Stealing, Shouting And Doing The Things Historians Usually Record, While On The Banks, Unnoticed, People Build Homes, Make Love, Raise Children, Sing Songs, Write Poetry And Even Whittle Statues. The Story Of Civilization Is What Happened On The Banks.

We Conclude That The Concentration Of Wealth Is Natural And Inevitable, And Is Periodically Alleviated By Violent Or Peaceable Partial Redistribution. In This View All Economic History Is The Slow Heartbeat Of The Social Organism, A Vast Systole And Diastole Of Concentrating Wealth And Compulsive Redistribution.

There Is No Real Philosophy Until The Mind Turns Around And Examines Itself.