If I Thought I Could Win One

... You Cannot Make A Man Clean [simply] By Washing His Shirt.

There Are Men So Incorrigibly Lazy That No Inducement That You Can Offer Will Tempt Them To Work; So Eaten Up By Vice That Virtue Is Abhorrent To Them, And So Inveterably Dishonest That Theft Is To Them A Master Passion.

The Profession Of A Prostitute Is The Only Career In Which The Maximum Income Is Paid To The Newest Apprentice. It Is The One Calling In Which At The Beginning The Only Exertion Is That Of Self-indulgence; All The Prizes Are At The Commencement. It Is The Ever-new Embodiment Of The Old Fable Of The Sale Of The Soul To The Devil. The Tempter Offers Wealth, Comfort, Excitement, But In Return The Victim Must Sell Her Soul, Nor Does The Other Party Forget To Exact His Due To The Uttermost Farthing.

We Must Wake Ourselves Up! Or Somebody Else Will Take Our Place, And Bear Our Cross, And Thereby Rob Us Of Our Crown.

I Am Not Waiting For A Move Of God, I Am A Move Of God!