Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible; Shakespeare's plays, for instance, seem to hang there complete by themselves. But when the web is pulled askew, hooked up at the edge, torn in the middle, one remembers that these webs are not spun in midair by incorporeal creatures, but are the work of suffering human beings, and are attached to the grossly material things, like health and money and the houses we live in. A Room of One's Own

If a man aspires towards a righteous life, his first act of abstinence is from injury to animals. The First Step

The world is constantly telling you that path to a better life is more (…) You are constantly bombarded with messages to give a fuck about everything all the time (…) Why? My guess: because giving a fuck about more is good for business. The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A F*Ck

The Seven Commandments: Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend. No animal shall wear clothes. No animal shall sleep in a bed. No animal shall drink alcohol. No animal shall kill any other animal. All animals are equal. Animal Farm