"Of course those nations could not have resisted their doom.

Go on, then: vault over your premises." "If it be, then, my lord, that--" "My very worshipful lord," interposed Mohi, "is not our philosopher getting off soundings; and may it not be impious to meddle with these things ?" "Were it so, old man, he should have known it.

The king of Odo is something more than you mortals." "But are we the great gods themselves," cried Yoomy, "that we discourse of these things." "No, minstrel," said Babbalanja; "and no need have the great gods to discourse of things perfectly comprehended by them, and by themselves ordained.

But you and I, Yoomy, are men, and not gods; hence is it for us, and not for them, to take these things for our themes.

Nor is there any impiety in the right use of our reason, whatever the issue.
Smote with superstition, shall we let it wither and die out, a dead, limb to a live trunk, as the mad devotee's arm held up motionless for years?
Or shall we employ it but for a paw, to help us to our bodily needs, as the brutes use their instinct?
Is not reason subtile as quicksilver--live as lightning--a neighing charger to advance, but a snail to recede?
Can we starve that noble instinct in us, and hope that it will survive?
Better slay the body than the soul; and if it be the direst of sins to be the murderers of our own bodies, how much more to be a soul-suicide.