Look At A Man The Way He

The World Is For Thousands A Freak Show; The Images Flicker Past And Vanish; The Impressions Remain Flat And Unconnected In The Soul. Thus They Are Easily Led By The Opinions Of Others, Are Content To Let Their Impressions Be Shuffled And Rearranged And Evaluated Differently.

We Are The Slaves Of Objects Around Us, And Appear Little Or Important According As These Contract Or Give Us Room To Expand.

Viewed From The Summit Of Reason, All Life Looks Like A Malignant Disease And The World Like A Madhouse.

The Longer I Live, The More It Grieves Me To See Man, Who Occupies His Supreme Place For The Very Purpose Of Imposing His Will Upon Nature, And Freeing Himself And His From An Outrageous Necessity--to See Him Taken Up With Some False Notion, And Doing Just The Opposite Of What He Wants To Do; And Then, Because The Whole Bent Of His Mind Is Spoilt, Bungling Miserably Over Everything.

We Are Never Further From What We Wish Than When We Believe That We Have What We Wished For.