When The Guns Roar, The Arts Die.

The Only Thing You Got In This World Is What You Can Sell. And The Funny Thing Is That You're A Salesman, And You Don't Know That.

Look, We're All The Same; A Man Is A Fourteen-room House - In The Bedroom He's Asleep With His Intelligent Wife, In The Living-room He's Rolling Around With Some Bare Ass Girl, In The Library He's Paying His Taxes, In The Yard He's Raising Tomatoes And In The Cellar He's Making A Bomb To Blow It All Up.

If You Analyse Anything, You Destroy It.

Poor Brain! How Helplessly It Dissolves When Willing Eyes Meet And The Nose Warms To Those Old Jungle Scents.

When Irrational Terror Takes To Itself The Fiat Of Moral Goodness Somebody Has To Die. ... No Man Lives Who Has Not Got A Panic Button, And When It Is Pressed By The Clean White Hand Of Moral Duty, A Certain Murderous Train Is Set In Motion.