expended to procure them; that there should not be even food for the
children of the human race, except they labour as their fathers did twelve
thousand years ago; that even water should scarce be accessible to them,
unless paid for by labour! In twelve thousand written years the world has
not yet built itself a House, nor filled a Granary, nor organised itself for
its own
comfort. It is so marvellous I cannot express the wonder with which it fills
me. And more wonderful still, if that could be,
there are people so infatuated, or, rather, so limited of view,
that they glory in this state of things, declaring that work
is the main object of man's existence--work for subsistence--
and glorying in their wasted time. To argue with such is impossible; to
leave them is the only resource.

This our earth this day produces sufficient for our existence.
This our earth produces not only a sufficiency, but a
superabundance, and pours a cornucopia of good things down upon
us. Further, it produces sufficient for stores and granaries to
be filled to the rooftree for years ahead. I verily believe
that the earth in one year produces enough food to last for
thirty. Why, then, have we not enough? Why do people die of
starvation, or lead a miserable existence on the verge of it?
Why have millions upon millions to toil from morning to evening
just to gain a mere crust of bread? Because of the absolute
lack of Organisation by which such labour should produce its
effect, the absolute lack of distribution, the absolute lack even of the
very idea that such things are possible.
Nay, even to mention such things, to say that they are possible, is criminal
with many. Madness could hardly go farther.