I don’t think that radical change can come from political means any longer. I think it can only come from the confines of the skull — by imaginative means, whatever the route may be.
“Let ’em censure: what care I?
The herd of critic I defy.
Let the wretches know, I write
Regardless of their grace, or spite.
No, no: the fair, the gay, the young
Govern the numbers of my song.
All that they approve is sweet:
And all is sense, that they repeat.”
Matthew Prior | “In Imitation of Anacreon”