Sacred Hunger

Nothing a man suffers will prevent him from inflicting suffering on others. Indeed, it will teach him the way

Money is sacred as everyone knows... So then must be the hunger for it and the means we use to obtain it. Once a man is in debt he becomes a flesh and blood form of money, a walking investment. You can do what you like with him, you can work him to death or you can sell him. This cannot be called cruelty or greed because we are seeking only to recover our investment and that is a sacred duty.

Love does not stand still, as everyone knows; it is always adding to its own shape whether by advance or retreat. Wounds can be absorbed, but only like elements embodied in a story; they are always there, part of the meaning.

A man may go through life and remain ignorant of himself he may think himself as other than he truly is and he may die with this illusion still intact because no circumstance of his life has obliged him to revise it.

Only way to live here is day by day, same as anywhere.

But what a man sees still must depend on what he looks for. While I have eyes of my own, I shall not need to borrow yours.

There are no stronger fetters than those we forge for ourselves.

The mind is constituted to accept the god of the more powerful. If you have to choose between the god of the slave owner and the god of the enslaved, naturally you will choose the former . . .

The flood of cheap manufactures, for which the people have no need,destroys their industries. They become dependent on this trade and the demand for goods can only be met by enslaving their fellows.

The kneading of memory makes the dough of fiction, which, as we know, can go on yeasting for ever...

Numbers of men are getting richer and greater numbers are getting poorer. Alas, both classes have higher expectations these days. In Short, sir, there has been a leap in bribes.

I was born for better things.

Doubt is the ally of hope, not its enemy, and together they made all the blessing he had.

The successful cannot be unhappy -- it was a contradiction in terms.

Grief works its own perversions and betrayals; the shape of what we have lost is as subject to corruption as the mortal body...

Sometimes in storm weather the shore had fluttered with disabled swallows. They crouched lower for his approach, without strength to escape. In his hands they pulsed with that same pulse. He had taken a bird and warmed it between his hands or inside his jacket, brought the life back until it was able to fly. Sometimes, released from his hands, they circled once around him before flying away; in gratitude, or so the child had believed--and the belief had survived all the man's science.

At the same time he could hardly believe what he had been reading. It struck him as verging on madness. This wild confession, this owing to a crime so outlandish, so totally different from the true ones of mating and theft of the negroes, outraged him with its insolence and perversity. In the conflict of these feelings Erasmus was swept by doubt and loneliness. His whole being seemed under threat of dissolution. What became of law, of legitimacy, of established order, if a man could assume such attitudes of private morality, decide for himself where his fault lay? It turned everything upside down. He could think of nothing more damnable. And yet… He remembered suddenly the second, rarer smile his cousin had, the one that came slowly, transforming his face. Briefly, unwillingly, Erasmus glimpsed the possibility of freedom.

It is everyone's bounden duty to try to get more than they have got already. If you have got two shillin' you try to make it into four shillin' . . . there is no end to it.

But that sacred hunger we spoke of justifies all.

The heart is a vital organ, but it is a faulty guide to conduct. It is the mind makes judgements and comparisons, furnishes evidence on which ideas of truth can be founded.

Those confiding their pain cannot know at the outset how much they will be required to relive it.

No latitude makes any difference to what men will do to other men, whether for gain or in the name of justice.

It is always through arbitrary combinations that experience enslaves the memory.

A little bit of kindness goes a long way with women.

Wilson had been killed by everybody. It was this that made his death special, the children had been told. It was justice, it was all the people showing how much they hated this crime. Killing was justice when everybody joined in.

A man can live free and not seek to limit the freedom of others so long as no one seeks to limit his.

When you in de right you heart strong you no 'fraid nottin'.

Useful thing a warrant. Murder and theft change their names if you have one.

The kind of truth that can be asserted by argument had lost all glamour, all lustre, for him, seeming no more now than another aspect of that ancient urge - much older than the desire for truth - to command attention, dominate one's fellows.

Justice is a mighty fine thing.