You Can No More Bridle Passions With

Unaware Of The Absurdity Of It, We Introduce Our Own Petty Household Rules Into The Economy Of The Universe For Which The Life Of Generations, Peoples, Of Entire Planets, Has No Importance In Relation To The General Development.

[t]he Departing World Leaves Behind... Not An Heir, But A Pregnant Widow.

Every Man Who Has Lived For Fifty Years Has Buried A Whole World Or Even Two; He Has Grown Used To Its Disappearance And Accustomed To The New Scenery Of Another Act: But Suddenly The Names And Faces Of A Time Long Dead Appear More And More Often On His Way, Calling Up Series Of Shades And Pictures Kept Somewhere, "just In Case," In The Endless Catacombs Of The Memory, Making Him Smile Or Sigh, And Sometimes Almost Weep.

If Nations Always Moved From One Set Of Furnished Rooms To Another -- And Always Into A Better Set -- Things Might Be Easier, But The Trouble Is That There Is No One To Prepare The New Rooms. The Future Is Worse Than The Ocean -- There Is Nothing There. It Will Be What Men And Circumstances Make It.

Strong Drink Stupefies A Man And Makes It Possible For Him To Forget; It Gives Him An Artificial Cheeriness, An Artificial Excitement; And The Pleasure Of This State Is Increased By The Low Level Of Civilization And The Narrow Empty Life To Which These Men Are Confined.