So That Was The Way. No Fair

Show Me A Man With A Tattoo And I'll Show You A Man With An Interesting Past.

The Trouble With Him Was That He Was Without Imagination. He Was Quick And Alert In The Things Of Life, But Only In The Things, And Not In The Significances. Fifty Degrees Below Zero Meant Eighty-odd Degrees Of Frost. Such Fact Impressed Him As Being Cold And Uncomfortable, And That Was All. It Did Not Lead Him To Meditate Upon His Frailty As A Creature Of Temperature, And Upon Man's Frailty In General, Able Only To Live Within Certain Narrow Limits Of Heat And Cold; And From There On It Did Not Lead Him To The Conjectural Field Of Immortality And Man's Place In The Universe.

He Had Come To Know Quite Thoroughly The World In Which He Lived. His Outlook Was Bleak And Materialistic. The World As He Saw It Was A Fierce And Brutal World, A World Without Warmth, A World In Which Caresses And Affection And The Bright Sweetness Of Spirit Did Not Exist.

Life, In A Sense, Is Living And Surviving. And All That Makes For Living And Surviving Is Good. He Who Follows The Fact Cannot Go Astray, While He Who Has No Reverence For The Fact Wanders Afar.

Having No New Companions, Nothing Remained For Him But To Read.