I think it good plain English without fraud to call a spade a spade, a bawd a bawd.

John Taylor the Water Poet

One for sorrow, Two for mirth, Three for a wedding, Four for a birth,
Five for a girl, Six for a boy, Seven for heaven and Eight for joy.
Nine for freedom from coveting gold. Ten for a secret ne’er to be told.

upon counting magpies

As he hurried along, the mole saw clearly he was an animal of field and hedgerow, the ploughed furrow, the frequented pasture, the lane of evening lingerings, the cultivated garden plot. For others the conflict that went with nature in the rough; he must be wise, must keep to the places in which his lines were laid and which held adventure enough, in their way, to last for a lifetime.

Kenneth Grahame

Harry Potter is the story of a government colluding with the media to viciously subvert every threat to its powerbase by slandering, imprisoning and murdering those who disagree with their narrative of reality. In the spirit of patriotic minutemen, the good people organized a resistance group called The Order of the Phoenix and despite a government-controlled school manipulating the curriculum and a ministry persecuting any media with opposing views, Harry formed his own paramilitary group aiming to exercise their suppressed right to bear arms and defend themselves.

Meanwhile, a cult of barbaric Death Eaters executed anyone who disagreed with them and enslaved those they deemed impure. Not all Slytherins were bad people, but all Death Eaters bought into Slytherin ideology which was incompatible with a moral society. Sweeping government surveillance was implemented, draconian policies drafted and certain words and speech taboo-ed, though by the time the ministry truly got their act together it was too late, they had been outmaneuvered and infiltrated, though only the remnants of the paramiltary groups were able to resist and eventually overthrow the regime.

I don't know how JK Rowling is liberal, reading Harry Potter made me conservative as crap.

Ben Peterson

That these Men then have no Knowledge or Love of God is undeniably manifest, not only from their gross, horrible notions of Him, but from their not loving their Brethren. But they have not always so weighty a cause to hate and murder one another as Difference of Opinion. Mahometans will butcher each other by the Thousands without so plausible a plea as this. Why is it that such numbers of Turks and Persians have stabbed one another in cool blood? Truly, because they differ in the manner of dressing their head.

The Ottoman vehemently maintains (for he has unquestionable tradition on his side) that a Mussulman should wear a round turbant. Whereas the Persian insists upon his liberty of conscience and will wear it picked before. So, for this wonderful reason, when a more plausible one is wanting, they beat out each other’s Brains from Generation to Generation.

It is not therefore strange, that ever since the religion of Mahomet appeared in the World, the Espousers of it ... have been as Wolves and Tygers to all other nations, rending and tearing all that fell into their merciless Paws, and grinding them with their Iron Teeth. That numberless Cities are rased from the Foundation, and only their Name remaining. That many Countries which were once as the Garden of God, are now a desolate Wilderness; and that so many once numerous and powerful Nations are vanish’d away from the Earth!

Such was, and is at this day the Rage, the Fury, the Revenge, of these Destroyers of Humankind!

John Wesley, The Doctrine of Original Sin, 1841

There is in Islam a paradox which is perhaps a permanent menace. The great creed born in the desert creates a kind of ecstasy of the very emptiness of its own land, and even, one may say, out of the emptiness of its own theology. . . .

A void is made in the heart of Islam which has to be filled up again and again by a mere repetition of the revolution that founded it. There are no sacraments; the only thing that can happen is a sort of apocalypse, as unique as the end of the world; so the apocalypse can only be repeated and the world end again and again.

GK Chesterton, Lord Kitchener, 1917

Will not perhaps the temporal power of Islam return and with it the menace of an armed Mohammedan world, which will shake off the domination of Europeans -- still nominally Christian -- and reappear as the prime enemy of our civilisation? The future always comes as a surprise, but political wisdom consists in attempting at least some partial judgment of what that surprise may be. And for my part I cannot but believe that a main unexpected thing of the future is the return of Islam.

Hilaire Belloc, The Great Heresies, 1938

What has happened before will happen again. What has been done before will be done again. There is nothing new under the sun. "Look," they say, "here is something new!" But no, it has all happened before, long before we were born. No one remembers what has happened in the past, and no one in days to come will remember what happens between now and then.

Ecclesiastes 1:9-11

In every Western country where Muslims are in the minority, they are obsessed with minority rights.

In every Islamic country with a Muslim majority, there are no minority rights.


I am afraid that God has sent these men to lay waste the world.

Patriarch Cyrus of Alexandria
while negotiating the surrender of Alexandria to the Muslims, 640 AD

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

William Butler Yeats, The Second Coming, 1919

All became so enamoured of their own rights that they did their utmost to limit and destroy the rights of all others; this single occupation became the reason for their existence. Slavery followed—voluntary slavery, too—the weak eagerly submitting to the strong in order to subdue those even weaker than them.

Then there were saints who came to these people, weeping, and spoke to them of their pride, of their loss of joy and balance, of their loss of shame. They were laughed at or pelted with stones.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Dream of a Ridiculous Man, 1877

The Matrix is a system, Neo. That system is our enemy. But when you're inside you look around - what do you see? Businessmen, teachers, lawyers, carpenters, the very minds of the people we are trying to save. But until we do these people are still a part of that system and that makes them our enemy.

You have to understand most of these people are not ready to be unplugged, and many of them are so inured, so hopelessly dependent on the system, that they will fight to protect it.

Morpheus, The Matrix

Let’s look death in the face and say, Whatever, man.

Hugo Reyes

I’m an Englishman. I’m from Bermondsey, South-East London. My father was called George. He was also from Bermondsey. His father, another Bermondsey man, was called George, too. And his father, my great-grandfather, is from the same place. He was called Edward.

These three generations of my family were in the fish trade. I’m the first member of my family not to work at the market in Billingsgate. My great-grandfather had eleven brothers and sisters. They all married, except one. They had forty-three children. Of these, thirty-seven married, and between them they had a further one hundred and fifty-nine children. One of those was my father. I dont know exactly how many of his generation married or exactly how many children they produced. I’ve so far tracked over two-hundred of them. Many still live in Bermondsey. Some are still in the fish trade.

There are seven called George, and five called Victoria. I stand here, in front of you, as a representative of all of them, and I ask in their name the great question put by our patron, Mr Powell, what do they know of England, who only England know? Or, what can my family, who come from England, who lived in England, who know only England, say of this, our country?

Mr Powell once spoke of the destruction of ancient Athens and the miraculous survival in the blackened ruins of that city of the sacred olive tree; the symbol of Greece, their country. And he also spoke of us, the English, at the heart of a vanished empire, seeming to find within ourselves that one of our own oak trees, the sap rising from our ancient roots, and he said perhaps, after all, we who have inhabited this island fortress for an unbroken thousand years, brought up, as he said, within the sound of English bird song under the English oak, in the English meadow, beneath the red cross of St. George, it is us who know most of England.

And I appreciated him for saying that, because it was as if he spoke for my family, who understand well their own country. Who understand even better their own capital, London town, as we used to call her. As we strolled in her parks, as we marvelled at her palaces, as we did buisness in the city, went West for a dance, took a boat on the river. The pale ale and eel pie of old London. The London of my family for as many generations as I know. The London that in than fifteen years be less than fifty percent white. London, where in fifteen years a white person will be in the minority.

Am I racist? No. Do I have anything against people of other races? No. Would I prevent them from coming into my home? No. So what then is my gripe?

My gripe, and I speak on behalf of seven men called George and five women called Victoiria, my gripe is quite simple.

My gripe is that we were never asked. My gripe is that we were told, not asked, and everyday we are told again and again how we are to be and how our country is to be. We are told by them, and we know who they are, they’re English too. They are the class that has always set themselves apart, they are the class that has always taken what they wanted for themselves, and now they are the class that is giving England away. They have never asked us, and they never will.

Do we allow them to sell our heritage? Or is it time for us to speak?

To speak, to refuse them the right to give away our holy, or bountiful, our only England that has, that has nurtured us, naked, grown us as the oak. Is it time for us that England know to come yet again and defend our country? With our fire, our fists? Is it time for her sons to rise again?

I say yes. I say yes. I say…yes.”

Marc Warren as Lawrence Bright, NCS:Manhunt

First, they get rid of the flag because they say it’s a reminder Of slavery.
So are the monuments, of course, so they get rid of them, too.
They wipe out everything connected to your heritage
and when it’s all gone you ask,

“Is that enough? Are there any other reminders Of slavery?”

And they say, “Yeah. You.”

John Rivers

Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute.

History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.

George Orwell, 1984

And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For in much wisdom is much grief and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.

Ecclesiastes 1:17-18

I can assure you that every time you think you know how stupid people can be,
they will surprise you.

Darth Silious
But how the world turns. One day, cock of the walk. Next, a feather duster.

Well, ain’t we a pair, Raggedy Man.

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome

In this time, give it to me easy
And let me try with pleasured hands
To take you in the sun to
Promised lands
To show you every one
it's the time of the season for loving.

The Zombies

I like smoke and lightning, heavy metal thunder
Racing in the wind and the feeling that I'm under

Yeah, darling, gonna make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace
Fire all of your guns at once and
Explode into space.


He would see this country burn if he could be king of the ashes.

Lord Varys regarding Petyr Baelish

When you get the message, hang up the phone.

Alan Watts on psychedelics

The honey is too dear that is lik’t from thorns.

John Gerard

Easy reading is damn hard writing.

Nathaniel Hawthorne

Times change, people don't.

John Caples