My nerves are shaken." Draconmeyer turned his head.

He, too, raised his wine to his lips and drank deliberately.
"My friend," he said, "there is no philosophy save one.

A child cries for the star he may not have; the weak man comforts himself in privation by repeating to himself the dry-as-dust axioms conceived in an alien brain, and weaving from them the miserable comfort of empty words.

The man who knows life and has found wisdom, pays the price for the thing he desires, and obtains it!".