My Number Is 174517; We Have Been

An Enemy Who Sees The Error Of His Ways Ceases To Be An Enemy.

This Is The Most Immediate Fruit Of Exile, Of Uprooting: The Prevalence Of The Unreal Over The Real. Everyone Dreamed Past And Future Dreams, Of Slavery And Redemption, Of Improbable Paradises, Of Equally Mythical And Improbable Enemies; Cosmic Enemies, Perverse And Subtle, Who Pervade Everything Like The Air.

Perfection Belongs To Narrated Events, Not To Those We Live.

Did Chemistry Theorems Exist? No: Therefore You Had To Go Further, Not Be Satisfied With The Quia, Go Back To The Origins, To Mathematics And Physics. The Origins Of Chemistry Were Ignoble, Or At Least Equivocal: The Dens Of The Alchemists, Their Abominable Hodgepodge Of Ideas And Language, Their Confessed Interest In Gold, Their Levantine Swindles Typical Of Charlatans And Magicians; Instead, At The Origin Of Physics Lay The Strenuous Clarity Of The West-archimedes And Euclid.

To Accuse Another Of Having Weak Kidneys, Lungs, Or Heart, Is Not A Crime; On The Contrary, Saying He Has A Weak Brain Is A Crime. To Be Considered Stupid And To Be Told So Is More Painful Than Being Called Gluttonous, Mendacious, Violent, Lascivious, Lazy, Cowardly: Every Weakness, Every Vice, Has Found Its Defenders, Its Rhetoric, Its Ennoblement And Exaltation, But Stupidity Hasn't.