Old Age Is Like An Opium Dream.

Our Morality Seems To Be Only A Check On The Ultimate Domination Of Force, Just As Our Politeness Is A Check On The Impulse Of Every Pig To Put His Feet In The Trough.

We Are All Tattooed In Our Cradles With The Beliefs Of Our Tribe; The Record May Seem Superficial, But It Is Indelible.

On Every Stem, On Every Leaf,... And At The Root Of Everything That Grew, Was A Professional Specialist In The Shape Of Grub, Caterpillar, Aphis, Or Other Expert, Whose Business It Was To Devour That Particular Part.

We Must Think Things Not Words, Or At Least We Must Constantly Translate Our Words Into The Facts For Which They Stand, If We Are To Keep To The Real And The True.

Systems Die; Instincts Remain.