A Kiss Without A Mustache Is Like

What I Can't Understand Is, How Can Anybody Figure Now That The Government Can Support Us, When We Support The Government.

I Am Too Sick To Work And Haven't Money Enough To Last 2 Months And Pay Income Tax. I Want To Keep Going But Do Not See Quite How, And There Is No Alternative - Rather Than Justify My Mother's 25-year Dread Of My "coming Back On Her, Sick," I Must Kill Myself. If She Has To Pay Funeral Costs, At Least She Will Cut Them To The Bone And I Will Not Be Here To Endure Her Martyrdom And Prolong It By Living.

I Can Imagine Nothing More Wonderful Than Always Wanting To Keep A Man. It's This Not Wanting To Keep Them, And Yet Not Quite Being Able To Disentangle One's Self, Never Quite Having The Ruthlessness To Stike At The Hands On The Gunwale With An Oar Until They Let Go - That's The Horrible Thing.

The Prairies Were Dust. Day After Day, Summer After Summer, The Scorching Winds Blew The Dust And The Sun Was Brassy In A Yellow Sky. Crop After Crop Failed. Again And Again The Barren Land Must Be Mortgaged For Taxes And Food And Next Year's Seed. The Agony Of Hope Ended When There Was Not Harvest And No More Credit, No Money To Pay Interest And Taxes; The Banker Took The Land. Then The Bank Failed.

Anyone Who Says That Economic Security Is A Human Right, Has Been To Much Babied. While He Babbles, Other Men Are Risking And Losing Their Lives To Protect Him. They Are Fighting The Sea, Fighting The Land, Fighting Disease And Insects And Weather And Space And Time, For Him, While He Chatters That All Men Have A Right To Security And That Some Pagan God—society, The State, The Government, The Commune—must Give It To Them. Let The Fighting Men Stop Fighting This Inhuman Earth For One Hour, And He Will Learn How Much Security There Is.