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- 2741
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z
- extracted_by
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- start_line
- 2698
- text
- this, has all. He who has this, whether he kneel to an image of wood,
calling it Oro; or to an image of air, calling it the same; whether he
fasts or feasts; laughs or weeps;—that man can be no richer. And this
religion, faith, virtue, righteousness, good, whate’er you will, I find
in this book I hold. No written page can teach me more.”
“Have you that, then, of which you speak, Babbalanja? Are you content,
there where you stand?”
“My lord, you drive me home. I am not content. The mystery of mysteries
is still a mystery. How this author came to be so wise, perplexes me.
How he led the life he did, confounds me. Oh, my lord, I am in
darkness, and no broad blaze comes down to flood me. The rays that come
to me are but faint cross lights, mazing the obscurity wherein I live.
And after all, excellent as it is, I can be no gainer by this book. For
the more we learn, the more we unlearn; we accumulate not, but
substitute; and take away, more than we add. We dwindle while we grow;
we sally out for wisdom, and retreat beyond the point whence we
started; we essay the Fondiza, and get but the Phe. Of all simpletons,
the simplest! Oh! that I were another sort of fool than I am, that I
might restore my good opinion of myself. Continually I stand in the
pillory, am broken on the wheel, and dragged asunder by wild horses.
Yes, yes, Bardianna, all is in a nut, as thou sayest; but all my back
teeth can not crack it; I but crack my own jaws. All round me, my
fellow men are new-grafting their vines, and dwelling in flourishing
arbors; while I am forever pruning mine, till it is become but a stump.
Yet in this pruning will I persist; I will not add, I will diminish; I
will train myself down to the standard of what is unchangeably true.
Day by day I drop off my redundancies; ere long I shall have stripped
my ribs; when I die, they will but bury my spine. Ah! where, where,
where, my lord, is the everlasting Tekana? Tell me, Mohi, where the
Ephina? I may have come to the Penultimate, but where, sweet Yoomy, is
the Ultimate? Ah, companions! I faint, I am wordless:- -something,
nothing, riddles,—does Mardi hold her?”
“He swoons!” cried Yoomy.
“Water! water!” cried Media.
“Away:” said Babbalanja serenely, “I revive.”
- title
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