“You," Said Dr. Yavitch, "are a middle-road liberal, and you haven't the slightest idea what you want. I, being a revolutionist, know exactly what I want -- and what I want now is a drink.”

“Well, if that’s what you call being at peace, for heaven’s sake just warn me before you go to war, will you?”

“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.”

“What are you doing?”“Whatever I want.”

“What are these unheard of sins you condemn so much - and like so well?”

“What are you doing?” Her voice shook.“Whatever I want, sweetheart.”

“It is impossible to discourage the real writers - they don't give a damn what you say, they're going to write.”