If society fits you comfortably enough, you call it freedom.
In the multitude of middle-aged men who go about their vocations in a daily course determined for them much in the same way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little.
He who strays from the customary becomes a sacrifice to the extraordinary; he who keeps to the customary becomes its slave. He iscondemned to perish in either case.
I find the earth to be a place of misery in which I am surrounded by the conformity that kills society.
In America, through pressure of conformity, there is freedom of choice, but nothing to choose from.
Institutionalized, I live my life a product made to crumble.
The mass of men are very easily imposed on. They have their runways in which they always travel, and are sure to fall into any pit or box-trap set therein.
Consistency in opinion is the slow poison of intellectual life, the destroyer of its vividness and energy.
