I Have Given A Name

Our Treasure Lies In The Beehive Of Our Knowledge. We Are Perpetually On The Way Thither, Being By Nature Winged Insects And Honey Gatherers Of The Mind.

Whatever Is Profound Loves Masks; What Is Most Profound Even Hates Image And Parable.

Watch Them Clamber, These Swift Monkeys! They Clamber Over One Another And Thus Drag One Another Into The Mud And The Depth. They All Want To Get To The Throne: That Is Their Madness — As If Happiness Sat On The Throne. Often, Mud Sits On The Throne — And Often The Throne Also On Mud. Mad They All Appear To Me, Clambering Monkeys And Overardent. Foul Smells Their Idol, The Cold Monster: Foul, They Smell To Me Altogether, These Idolators.

The More A Person Indulges Himself The Less Others Are Willing To Indulge Him.

Rather Perish Than Hate And Fear, And Twice Rather Perish Than Make Oneself Hated And Feared — This Must Some Day Become The Highest Maxim For Every Single Commonwealth.