Turn Over The Pages Of History And

Human Beings Suffer Agonies, And Their Sad Fates Become Legends; Poets Write Verses About Them And Playwrights Compose Dramas, And The Remembrance Of Past Grief Becomes A Source Of Present Pleasure - Such Is The Strange Alchemy Of The Spirit.

Through Fasting. . .i Have Found A Perfect Health, A New State Of Existence, A Feeling Of Purity And Happiness, Something Unknown To Humans.

It Is The Music Which Makes It What It Is; It Is The Music Which Changes The Place From The Rear Room Of A Saloon In Back Of The Yards To A Fairy Place, A Wonderland, A Little Comer Of The High Mansions Of The Sky.

They Use Everything About The Hog Except The Squeal.

It Was All So Very Businesslike That One Watched It Fascinated. It Was Pork-making By Machinery, Pork-making By Applied Mathematics. And Yet Somehow The Most Matter-of-fact Person Could Not Help Thinking Of The Hogs; They Were So Innocent, They Came So Very Trustingly; And They Were So Very Human In Their Protests - And So Perfectly Within Their Rights! They Had Done Nothing To Deserve It; And It Was Adding Insult To Injury, As The Thing Was Done Here, Swinging Them Up In This Cold-blooded, Impersonal Way, Without Pretence At Apology, Without The Homage Of A Tear.