“Just as under statism one can at least change nationalities but you can’t avoid subjection to one nation-state or another. But freedom means more than the right to change masters.”

Work is a much better explanation for the creeping cretinization all around us than even such significant moronizing mechanisms as television and education.

Almost any evil you’d care to name comes from working or from living in a world designed for work. In order to stop suffering, we have to stop working.

Liberals say we should end employment discrimination. I say we should end employment.

Law is any application for the official use of coercion that succeeds.

Work is the source of nearly all the misery in the world.

You are what you do. If you do boring, stupid monotonous work, chances are you’ll end up boring, stupid and monotonous.

Those on the receiving end of coercion don’t quibble over their coercers’ credentials.

Cleansed of its leftist residues, anarchy – anarchism minus Marxism – will be free to get better at being what it is.

Your foreman or supervisor gives you more or-else orders in a week than the police do in a decade.

You are what you do. If you do boring, stupid, monotonous work, chances are you’ll end up boring, stupid, and monotonous.

I thought, briefly, that I would never feel as intensely connected to the world, to another human being, as I did at that moment.

We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.

Music is another way of thinking, or maybe thinking is another kind of music.

What’s good about writing is that when you write novels or fiction, people can see that the problems in one region are similar to problems in another region.

One man’s wage increase is another man’s price increase.

We are not retreating – we are advancing in another direction.

The dimmed outlines of phenomenal things all merge into one another unless we put on the focusing-glass of theory, and screw it up sometimes to one pitch of definition and sometimes to another, so as to see down into different depths through the great millstone of the world.

The country of the tourist pamphlet always is another country, an embarrassing abstraction of the desirable that, thank God, does not exist on this planet, where there are always ants and bad smells and empty Coca-Cola bottles to keep the grubby finger-print of reality upon the beautiful.