Man In A Word Has No Nature;

In Our Rather Stupid Time, Hunting Is Belittled And Misunderstood, Many Refusing To See It For The Vital Vacation From The Human Condition That It Is, Or To Acknowledge That The Hunter Does Not Hunt In Order To Kill; On The Contrary, He Kills In Order To Have Hunted.

Love Is Exclusivity, Selection.

The Tapestry Of History That Seems So Full Of Tragedy When Viewed From The Front Has Countless Comic Scenes Woven Into Its Reverse Side. In Truth, Tragedy And Comedy Are The Twin Masks Of History - Its Mass Appeal.

Towns Are Full Of People, Houses Full Of Tenants, Hotels Full Of Guests, Trains Full Of Travelers, Cafés Full Of Customers, Parks Full Of Promenaders, Consulting-rooms Of Famous Doctors Full Of Patients, Theatres Full Of Spectators, And Beaches Full Of Bathers. What Previously Was, In General, No Problem, Now Begins To Be An Everyday One, Namely, To Find Room.

When You Are Fed Up With The Troublesome Present, You Take Your Gun, Whistle For Your Dog, Go Out To The Mountain, And, Without Further Ado, Give Yourself The Pleasure During A Few Hours Or A Few Days Of Being "paleolithic."