injustice [Theme] Page 26

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

That's always come up with conspiracy, inciting a revolution, then what? Lying in a glass coffin surrounded by tourists and necrophilia.

Who wants to keep - he loses. Who's ready with a smile to let go - that I try to keep.

The world is unfair; once you accept the means, become the accomplice, and want to change - will be the executioner.

The biggest injustice in life is the need to get up early than sleep.

Sometimes I think the world was rage, injustice, violence, the desire for death.

Ali was sentenced to five years in prison for refusing to kill "gooks".
"I have nothing against them Vietcong, do not have" - he said. Five years.

Nowadays most people know that the hard way: always want what you can't get, and things to which you surrender themselves to you on a silver platter.

The most kind and helpful taunts and the pain in the end will be rewarding.

Such has been my fate since childhood. All read on my face a sign of bad feelings, which were not; but they assumed - and they were born. I was modest -- I was accused of slyness: I became secretive. I deeply felt the good and evil; I will not be caressed, all offended: I was vindictive; I was gloomy - other children merry and talkative; I felt above them, I put below. I became envious. I was ready to love the whole world, - to me no one understood and I learned to hate. My colourless youth leaked in fight against itself and light; my best feelings, fearing ridicule, I buried in my heart: they died there. I was telling the truth - I was not believed: I began to deceive; to know well the light and the springs of society, I became skilled in the science of life and seen others to be happy using the gift of all the advantages which I so tirelessly sought. And then in my chest born of despair - not the despair that treat the barrel of a gun, but a cold, impotent despair, covered with courtesy and good-natured smile. I became a moral cripple; one half of my soul did not exist, it dried up, evaporated, died, I cut it off and threw it, then another moved and lived here for everybody, and nobody noticed because nobody knew about the existence of the lost of half of it.

The police officer is obliged to sacrifice his life for almost anyone.
For the flayers.
For drug addicts. For the Communists. For Lutherans.
In the line of duty, you die for rich kids with a huge inheritance.
For child molesters. For the pornographers. For the prostitutes.
If the next shot fate has prepared for you.

To live, to convince yourself that life is logical, prosaic and reasonable. First of all, reasonable. I'm sure of it. I spent a lot of time on this question. I will never forget the dying Declaration of Mrs. underwood: "When you increase the number of variables, the axioms themselves never change".
I really believe that.
I think therefore I exist. My face hair, so I shave. My wife and child died in a car accident, so I pray. All this is absolutely logical and reasonable. We live in the best of possible worlds, so please give me a "Kent" in the left hand beaker to the right, turn on "Starsky and Hutch" and listen to the melody, the harmony, the slow rotation of the Universe. It is logical and reasonable. Real and irrefutable, such as Coca-Cola.
But every man has two faces: the smiley named Jekyll and his opposite - dark Mr. Hyde, the creepy person on the other side of the mirror that has never heard of razors, prayers and logic of the Universe. You turn the mirror sideways and see a reflection of his face: half-mad, half-meaningful. Astronomers call the line between light and shadow terminator.
The reverse side says that the Universe logic is the logic of a child in a cowboy suit, with pleasure smeared Lollipop for a mile around. This is the logic of Napalm, paranoia, terror, random carcinoma. This logic eats itself. She claims that life is a monkey on the branch that life is hysterical and unpredictable as the coin which you flip to figure out who will pay for lunch.
I understand that from time to time you manage not to notice that the opposite direction. But still, you will inevitably encounter it when a few brave men decide to ride through Indiana, along the way shooting at kids on bikes. You meet her when your sister said she was going downstairs for a minute to the store, and there she was killed during an armed RAID. You see the face of Mr. Hyde when I hear the arguments your father about how to deploy the nose of your mother.
It's a roulette wheel. No matter how many numbers on it. The principle of a small rolling ball never changes. Don't say it's crazy. It is the embodiment of composure and sanity.
And this fatality, it is not only around you. She is within you, right now, is growing and developing in the dark like magic mushrooms. Call it the Thing in the Basement. Call it the Driving Force. I imagine her his own personal dinosaur, huge, slimy and crazy, wallowing in the swamp of my subconscious and not knowing what to hold on not to drown.

And if a malignant tumor the size of a walnut is able to destroy all of this, what is man? How could he again trust life?