There is no concluding chapter, because the hero in politics has more future before him than there is recorded history behind him. The last chapter is merely a place where the writer imagines that the polite reader has begun to look furtively at his watch.

And with this haughty gesture, he hurriedly picked up the tools of reason, and disappeared into the Academy, leaving the world to Machiavelli.

I HAVE written, and then thrown away, several endings to this book. Over all of them there hung that fatality of last chapters, in which every idea seems to find its place, and all the mysteries, that the writer has not forgotten, are unravelled.

He is the creature of an evolution who can just about span a sufficient portion of reality to manage his survival, and snatch what on the scale of time are but a few moments of insight and happiness.

The end of the universe RTA 334 The only mistake kills everything ↓↓ 334 HAPPY END(Red Word) ↓↓ 400 Music stops The clock starts to move quietly again ↓↓ 433 Truth Justice

IT was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I may say in passing, that to see my novel Thousand Cranes as an evocation of the formal and spiritual beauty of the tea ceremony is a misreading. It is a negative work, and expression of doubt about and warning against the vulgarity into which the tea ceremony has fallen.

Reasons for creating the world ⇒ ✕ How to create the world ⇒ ✕ Reason for destruction of the world ⇒ ✕ How to destroy the world ⇒ 〇 Gives intelligence to one life form. The only mistake kills everything. Overnight.

Shooting can't die ever and in the future.

This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.

Those who cannot feel the littleness of great things in themselves are apt to overlook the greatness of little things in others.

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.