My Mistake Was In Ever Opening The

It Is Good That Man Should Accept At Face Value The Cheats Of Sense And Snares Of Flesh, And Through The Fogs Of Sentiency Pursue The Lures And Lies Of Passion.

He Had No Conscious Knowledge Of Death, But Like Every Animal Of The Wild, He Possessed The Instinct Of Death. To Him It Stood As The Greatest Of Hurts. It Was The Very Essence Of The Unknown; It Was The Sum Of The Terrors Of The Unknown, The One Culminating And Unthinkable Catastrophe That Could Happen To Him, About Which He Knew Nothing And About Which He Feared Everything.

It Was The Masterful And Incommunicable Wisdom Of Eternity Laughing At The Futility Of Life And The Effort Of Life. It Was The Wild, The Savage, Frozen-hearted Northland Wild. (ch.1)

A Vast Silence Reigned Over The Land. The Land Itself Was A Desolation, Lifeless, Without Movement, So Lone And Cold That The Spirit Of It Was Not Even That Of Sadness. There Was A Hint In It Of Laughter, But Of Laughter More Terrible Than Any Sadness-a Laughter That Was Mirthless As The Smile Of The Sphinx, A Laughter Cold As The Frost And Partaking Of The Grimness Of Infallibility. It Was The Masterful And Incommunicable Wisdom Of Eternity Laughing At The Futility Of Life And The Effort Of Life. It Was The Wild, The Savage, Frozen-hearted Northland Wild.

As For The Primitive, I Hark Back To It Because We Are Still Very Primitive. How Many Thousands Of Years Of Culture, Think You, Have Rubbed And Polished At Our Raw Edges? One Probably; At The Best, No More Than Two. And That Takes Us Back To Screaming Savagery, When, Gross Of Body And Deed, We Drank Blood From The Skulls Of Our Enemies, And Hailed As Highest Paradise The Orgies And Carnage Of Valhalla.