Nature, After All, Is Still The Grand

We Call It A Society; And Go About Professing Openly The Totalest Separation, Isolation. Our Life Is Not A Mutual Helpfulness; But Rather, Cloaked Under Due Laws-of-war, Named Fair Competition And So Forth, It Is A Mutual Hostility.

Every New Opinion, At Its Starting, Is Precisely In A Minority Of One.

The Highest Ensign That Men Ever Met And Embraced Under, The Cross Itself, Had No Meaning Save An Accidental Extrinsic One.

Neither Had Watt Of The Steam Engine A Heroic Origin, Any Kindred With The Princes Of This World. The Princes Of This World Were Shooting Their Partridges... While This Man With Blackened Fingers, With Grim Brow, Was Searching Out, In His Workshop, The Fire-secret.

The End Of Man Is Action.