It is instructive to think that there is not a single person in this room, or for that matter in any room in the world, who, at some nicely chosen point in historical space-time would not be put to death there and then, here and now, by a commonsensical majority in righteous rage. The color of one's creed, neckties, eyes, thoughts, manners, speech, is sure to meet somewhere in time or space with a fatal objection from a mob that hates that particular tone. And the more brilliant, the more unusual the man, the nearer he is to the stake.
Stranger always rhymes with danger .
The meek prophet, the enchanter in his cave, the indignant artist, the nonconforming little schoolboy, all share in the same sacred danger. Anybody whose mind is proud enough not to breed true, secretly carries a bomb at the back of his brain, and so I suggest, just for the fun of the thing, taking that private bomb and carefully dropping it upon the model city of commonsense.