Such men as he be never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, And therefore are they very dangerous.

How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort, in a hospital.

And then there was pain and blood and tears, all those things that cause suffering and revolt, the killing of Françoise, the killing of Fouan, vice triumphing, and the stinking, bloodthirsty peasants, vermin who disgrace and exploit the earth. But can you really know? Just as the frost that burns the crops, the hail that chops them down, the thunderstorms which batter them are all perhaps necessary, maybe blood and tears are needed to keep the world going. And how important is human misery when weighed against the mighty mechanism of the stars and the sun? What does God care for us? We earn our bread only by dint of a cruel struggle, day in, day out. And only the earth is immortal, the Great Mother from whom we spring and to whom we return, love of whom can drive us to crime and through whom life is perpetually preserved for her own inscrutable ends, in which even our wretched degraded nature has its part to play.

We journey to the day, and tell each other how we sang to keep the dark away.

Vice is a wonderful thing, Catherine said. The people who go in for it seem to have good taste about it.

Silence! I am learning to know the silence of a Tahitian night.

Western man is schizophrenic.