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Butler, Samuel, 1835-1902

"The Way of All Flesh"


Of course he has long since found out how silly all this was, how silly I
mean in theory, for in practice it worked better than it ought to have
done, by keeping him free from _liaisons_ which would have tied his
tongue and made him see success elsewhere than where he came in time to
see it. He did what he did instinctively and for no other reason than
because it was most natural to him. So far as he thought at all, he
thought wrong, but what he did was right. I said something of this kind
to him once not so very long ago, and told him he had always aimed high.
"I never aimed at all," he replied a little indignantly, "and you may be
sure I should have aimed low enough if I had thought I had got the
chance."
I suppose after all that no one whose mind was not, to put it mildly,
abnormal, ever yet aimed very high out of pure malice aforethought. I
once saw a fly alight on a cup of hot coffee on which the milk had formed
a thin skin; he perceived his extreme danger, and I noted with what ample
strides and almost supermuscan effort he struck across the treacherous
surface and made for the edge of the cup--for the ground was not solid
enough to let him raise himself from it by his wings.


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