Only He Who Is Without Anything Is

...it Is Human Nature, I Suppose, To Be Futile And Ridiculous.

Only Those Become Weary Of Angling Who Bring Nothing To It But The Idea Of Catching Fish.

It Came To Mr. Blood, As He Trudged Forward Under The Laden Apple-trees On That Fragrant, Delicious July Morning, That Man—as He Had Long Suspected—was The Vilest Work Of God, And That Only A Fool Would Set Himself Up As A Healer Of A Species That Was Best Exterminated.

They Opposed Brute Force To Reason And Philosophy, And Battalions Of Foreign Mercenaries To Ideas. As If Ideas Were To Be Impaled On Bayonets!

He Was Suffering From The Loss Of An Illusion.