“Isn't there something in living dangerously?'There's a great deal in it,' the Controller replied. 'Men and women must have their adrenals stimulated from time to time.'What?' questioned the Savage, uncomprehending.It's one of the conditions of perfect health. That's why we've made the V.P.S. treatments compulsory.'V.P.S.?'Violent Passion Surrogate. Regularly once a month. We flood the whole system with adrenin. It's the complete physiological equivalent of fear and rage. All the tonic effects of murdering Desdemona and being murdered by Othello, without any of the inconvenience.'But I like the inconveniences.'We don't,' said the Controller. 'We prefer to do things comfortably.'But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.'In fact,' said Mustapha Mond, 'you're claiming the right to be unhappy. Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer, the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind.' There was a long silence.I claim them all,' said the Savage at last.Mustapha Mond shrugged his shoulders. 'You're welcome,' he said.”

“All right then," said the savage defiantly, I'm claiming the right to be unhappy.""Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat, the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind." There was a long silence."I claim them all," said the Savage at last.”

“Every now and then, I'll run into someone who claims not to like chocolate, and while we live in a country where everyone has the right to eat what they want, I want to say for the record that I don't trust these people, that I think something is wrong with them, and that they're probably - and this must be said - total duds in bed.”

“But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.”

“Patience, grasshopper," I counseled. "You don't want to seem overeager.""Right, that's why I said tomorrow," he said. "I want to see you again tonight. But I'm willing to wait all night and much of tomorrow.”

“I don't want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want goodness. I want sin.”