What Does It Matter, All

Little Things Seem Nothing, But They Give Peace, Like Those Meadow Flowers Which Individually Seem Odorless But All Together Perfume The Air.

It Is The Perpetual Dread Of Fear, The Fear Of Fear, That Shapes The Face Of A Brave Man.

All Her Life She [chantal] Had Been Carefully, Heroically Watching Over Mediocre Beings Who Were Hardly Real, Over Things Of No Value.

[p]ride Has No Intrinsic Substance, Being No More Than The Name Given To The Soul Devouring Itself. When That Loathsome Perversion Of Love Has Borne Its Fruit, It Has Another, More Meaningful And Weightier Name. We Call It Hatred.

Justice In The Hands Of The Powerful Is Merely A Governing System Like Any Other. Why Call It Justice? Let Us Rather Call It Injustice, But Of A Sly Effective Order, Based Entirely On Cruel Knowledge Of The Resistance Of The Weak, Their Capacity For Pain, Humilation And Misery. Injustice Sustained At The Exact Degree Of Necessary Tension To Turn The Cogs Of The Huge Machine-for-the-making-of-rich-men, Without Bursting The Boiler.