Half Of Tradition Is A Lie.

Xxviii "truth," Said A Traveller, "is A Rock, A Mighty Fortress; "often Have I Been To It, "even To Its Highest Tower, "from Whence The World Looks Black." "truth," Said A Traveller, "is A Breath, A Wind, "a Shadow, A Phantom; "long Have I Pursued It, "but Never Have I Touched "the Hem Of Its Garment." And I Believed The Second Traveller; For Truth Was To Me A Breath, A Wind, A Shadow, A Phantom, And Never Had I Touched The Hem Of Its Garment.

There Is Nothing- No Life, No Joy, No Pain- There Is Nothing Save Opinion, And Opinion Be Damned.

And It Was As If Fate Had Betrayed The Soldier. In Death It Exposed To His Enemies That Poverty Which In Life He Had Perhaps Concealed From His Friends.

I Walked In A Desert. And I Cried, ‘ah, God, Take Me From This Place!’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’ I Cried, ‘well, But - The Sand, The Heat, The Vacant Horizon.’ A Voice Said, ‘it Is No Desert.’

It Was Not Well To Drive Men Into Final Corners; At Those Moments They Could All Develop Teeth And Claws.