It’s time to pack up, at least for a while. Perhaps some day, for some big events, I might come back, but it’s time to turn out the lights, for several reasons.
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My final message is to always love your freedom, and fight for it with all you can. It is the rarest, and most precious, possession on earth. Without freedom, no other joys are meaningful; no victory is worthy; no riches are wealth; no tomorrows make a future. The right to speak and think and believe and study and work and earn and keep and buy and sell and be what you are, as you want, on your own terms, as an individual worthy to make choices, are beyond any treasures that so-called benefactors might offer you in trade. Do not let people tell you that freedom means moral chaos or poverty. This is not true. Do not let people tell you that folks in other parts of the world don’t long for freedom. This is not true. Do not let people tell you that it is all too late, and that talk of freedom is all speculation divorced from the real world. It is not true. Do not let people tell you that the Constitution is outdated, and that our lives must be governed, governed, governed, as the price for living in society. This is not true. And do not let people tell you that maturity consists of giving up your idealism, or that responsibility means giving up on your freedom, or that wisdom consists of accepting illogical arguments. These things are not true. I’ll end with a passage from John Milton, the great Christian libertarian, who wrote what I’ve always thought was a gorgeous epitaph. He wrote it in the 1660s, when it looked like all hope for freedom was lost—England had restored the Stuart monarchy to the throne, and Milton’s dream of a free society seemed doomed. Of course, only a century later, it revived again, far stronger than ever before.

[W]ith all hazard I have ventured what I thought my duty to speak in season, and to forewarn my country in time; wherein I doubt not but there be many wise men in all places and degrees, but am sorry the effects of wisdom are so little seen among us.... What I have spoken, is the language of that which is not called amiss “The good old Cause:” if it seem strange to any, it will not seem more strange, I hope, than convincing to backsliders. Thus much I should perhaps have said, though I were sure I should have spoken only to trees and stones; and had none to cry to, but with the prophet, “O earth, earth, earth!” to tell the very soil itself, what her perverse inhabitants are deaf to. Nay, though what I have spoke should happen (which thou suffer not, who didst create mankind free! nor thou next, who didst redeem us from being servants of men!) to be the last words of our expiring liberty.