Winter Is Not A Season In The

Do You Think It's So Snobbish, To Want To See Something Besides One's Fellow Citizens Abroad?

I Am Convinced That Everything That Is Worth While In The World Has Been Accomplished By The Free, Inquiring, Critical Spirit, And That The Preservation Of This Spirit Is More Important Than Any Social System Whatsoever. But The Men Of Ritual And The Men Of Barbarism Are Capable Of Shutting Up The Men Of Science And Silencing Them Forever.

I Think Perhaps We Want A More Conscious Life. We're Tired Of Drudging And Sleeping And Dying. We're Tired Of Seeing Just A Few People Able To Be Individualists. We're Tired Of Always Deferring Hope Till The Next Generation. We're Tired Of Hearing Politicians And Priests And Cautious Reformers... Coax Us, 'be Calm! Be Patient! Wait! We Have The Plans For A Utopia Already Made; Just Wiser Than You.' For Ten Thousand Years They've Said That. We Want Our Utopia Now — And We're Going To Try Our Hands At It.

Every Compulsion Is Put Upon Writers To Become Safe, Polite, Obedient, And Sterile.

The Cocktail Filled Him With A Whirling Exhilaration Behind Which He Was Aware Of Devastating Desires—to Rush Places In Fast Motors, To Kiss Girls, To Sing, To Be Witty. ... He Perceived That He Had Gifts Of Profligacy Which Had Been Neglected. —chapter 8