One Has To Grow Hard But Without

The Blacks, Those Magnificent Examples Of The African Race Who Have Maintained Their Racial Purity Thanks To Their Lack Of An Affinity With Bathing, Have Seen Their Territory Invaded By A New Kind Of Slave: The Portuguese.

The Spectacular Landscape Circling The Fortress Supplies An Essential Backdrop, Inspiring Dreamers To Wander Its Ruins For The Sake Of It; North American Tourists, Bound Down By Their Practical World View, Are Able To Place Those Members Of The Disintegrating Tribes They May Have Seen In Their Travels Among These Once-living Walls, Unaware Of The Moral Distance Separating Them, Since Only The Semi-indigenous Spirit Of The South American Can Grasp The Subtle Differences.

We Cannot Be Sure Of Having Something To Live For Unless We Are Willing To Die For It.

In Fact, If Christ Himself Stood In My Way, I, Like Nietzsche, Would Not Hesitate To Squish Him Like A Worm.

Its Tall Chimneys Throw Up Black Smoke, Impregnating Everything With Soot, And The Miners' Faces As They Traveled The Streets Were Also Imbued With That Ancient Melancholy Of Smoke, Unifying Everything With Its Grayish Monotones, A Perfect Coupling With The Gray Mountain Days.