He has all my--my--" "Brutishness," I suggested.
"Yes,--thank you for the word,--all my brutishness, but he can scarcely read or write." "And he has never philosophized on life," I added.
"No," Wolf Larsen answered, with an indescribable air of sadness.

"And he is all the happier for leaving life alone.

He is too busy living it to think about it.

My mistake was in ever opening the books.".