The rich are only defeated when running for their lives.
Railing in other men may be a crime, But ought to pass for mere instinct in him: Instinct he follows and no further knows, For to write verse with him is to transprose.
For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
Errors like straws upon the surface flow, Who would search for pearls to be grateful for often must dive below.
The love of liberty with life is given, And life itself the inferior gift of Heaven.
Luxurious kings are to their people lost, They live like drones, upon the public cost.
Desire of power, on earth a vicious weed, Yet, sprung from high, is of celestial seed: In God 'tisglory; and when men aspire, 'Tis but a spark too much of heavenly fire.
Those who remain silent are responsible.
You've got the whole civil rights movements emanating from the south, you've got the music that came out of the south that is the core of our current music, so for me that thinking comes out of having Dukes of Hazzard thrown in your face: that the south is a bunch of twangy people that I can't understand. So this is, hopefully, part of the movement to restore the south to its proper and rightful place in our nation. . . which is huge and pervasive. It's not about Texas - I'm not saying Texas doesn't have it's own unique history - but the south has this at its core.
That's what I mean by something grips in a canvas. The moment that happens you are then sucked into the whole thing. Like some kind of rhythm.
I don't have a fear and urgency feeling inside myself about the state of the world affairs and everything collapsing.