At the age of four with paper hats and wooden swords we're all Generals. Only some of us never grow out of it.

If you're going to be a prisoner of your own mind, the least you can do is make sure it's well furnished.

Like pornographers fretting under the burden of their wish dreams, these obscene buffoons suddenly found it unnecessary to assuage their fever among the pages of forbidden books or to pay for relief in some bordello, because a government of lonely fanatics swept into power and gradually lent official sanction to the dirtiest, saddest aspects of human nature, the lack of imagination which leads the ill to put their most libidinous nightmares into practice.