. . .'
"It's my weakness to be drawn into quarrels. It's a thing I have to
guard against. . . .
"What does it all amount to? It is like a fight between navvies in
a tunnel to settle the position of the Pole star. It doesn't
concern us. . . . Oh! it doesn't indeed concern us. It's a scuffle
in the darkness, and our business, the business of all brains, the
only permanent good work is to light up the world. . . . There will
be mischief and hatred here and suppression and then forgetfulness,
and then things will go on again, a little better or a little
worse. . . ."
"I'm tired of this place, White, and of all such places. I'm tired
of the shouting and running, the beating and shooting. I'm sick of
all the confusions of life's experience, which tells only of one
need amidst an endless multitude of distresses. I've seen my fill
of wars and disputes and struggles. I see now how a man may grow
weary at last of life and its disorders, its unreal exacting
disorders, its blunders and its remorse. No! I want to begin upon
the realities I have made for myself.
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