On reaching home, in order to take his thoughts off the one engrossing
subject, he sat down at the table and proceeded to read over certain
sententious passages written by him recently.
"In this world there is neither good nor bad."
"Some say: what is natural is good, and that man is right in his
desires."
"But that is false, for all is natural. In darkness and void nothing is
born; all has the same origin."
"Yet others say: All is good which comes from God. Yet that likewise is
false; for, if God exists, then all things come from Him, even
blasphemy."
"Again, there are those who say: goodness lies in doing good to
others."
"How can that be? What is good for one, is bad for another."
"The slave desires his liberty, while his master wants him to remain a
slave. The wealthy man wants to keep his wealth, and the poor man, to
destroy the rich; he who is oppressed, to be free; the victor to remain
unvanquished; the loveless to be loved; the living not to die. Man
desires the destruction of beasts, just as beasts wish to destroy man.
Thus it was in the beginning, and thus it ever shall be; nor has any
man a special right to get good that is good for him alone."
"Men are wont to say that loving-kindness is better than hatred. Yet
that is false, for if there be a reward, then certainly it is better to
be kind and unselfish, but if not, then it is better for a man to take
his share of happiness beneath the sun."
Yourii read on, thinking that these written meditations of his were
amazingly profound.
"It's all so true!" he said to himself, and in his melancholy there was
a touch of pride.
He went to the window and looked out into the garden where the paths
were strewn with yellow leaves. The sickly hue of death confronted him
at every point--dying leaves and dying insects whose lives depend on
warmth and light.
Yourii could not comprehend this calm. The pageant of dying summer
filled his soul with wrath unutterable.
"Autumn already; and then winter, and the snow. Then spring, and
summer, and autumn again! The eternal monotony of it all! And what
shall I be doing all the while? Exactly what I'm doing now. At best, I
shall become dull-witted, caring for nothing. Then old age, and death."
The same thoughts that had so often harassed him now rushed through his
brain. Life, so he said, had passed by him; after all, there was no
such thing as an exceptional existence; even a hero's life is full of
tedium, grievous at the outset, and joyless at the close.