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Money is our madness, our vast collective madness.
And of course, if the multitude is mad
the individual carries his own grain of insanity around with him.
I doubt if any man living hands out a pound note without a pang;
and a real tremor, if he hands out a ten-pound note.
We quail, money makes us quail.
It has got us down; we grovel before it in strange tellor.
And no wonder, for money has a fearful cruel power among men,
But it is not money we are so terrified of,
it is the collective money-mankind.
For mankind says with one voice: How much is he worth?
Has he no money? Then let him eat dirt, and go cold. –
And if I have no money, they will give me a little bread so I do not die,
but they will make me eat dirt with it.
I shall have to eat dirt, I shall have to eat dirt
if I have no money.
It is that that can become a delirium.
It is fear of my money-mad fellow-men.
We must have some money
to save us from eating dort.
And this all wrong.
Bread should be free.
shelter should be free,
fire should be free
to all and anybody, all and anybody, all over the world.
We must regain our sanity about money
before we start killing one enother about it,
It’s one thing or the other.
pang- a sharp, sudden feeling of pain
quail- feel or show fear
a delirium- wild excitement