But Not All Men Seek Rest And

Man Is Better Without Knowledge Of Things To Come, For What Is To Be Will Be, And Man Can Neither Avert Nor Hasten. It Is Better To Go In The Dark When The Road Must Pass A Lion And There Is No Other Road.

Animals Are Neither Gods Nor Fiends, But Men In Their Way Without The Lust And Greed Of Man.

Time And Times Are But Cogwheels, Unmatched, Grinding On Oblivious To One Another. Occasionally - Oh, Very Rarely! - The Cogs Fit; The Pieces Of The Plot Snap Together Momentarily And Give Men Faint Glimpses Beyond The Veil Of This Everyday Blindness We Call Reality.

There Comes, Even To Kings, The Time Of Great Weariness. Then The Gold Of The Throne Is Brass, The Silk Of The Palace Becomes Drab. The Gems In The Diadem And Upon The Fingers Of The Women Sparkle Drearily Like The Ice Of White Seas; The Speech Of Men Is As The Empty Rattle Of A Jester's Bell And The Feel Comes Of Things Unreal; Even The Sun Is Copper In The Sky And The Breath Of The Green Ocean Is No Longer Fresh.

The More I See Of What You Call Civilization, The More Highly I Think Of What You Call Savagery!