I’ve been saying a special prayer to Eunmar; did you know I believe in the old gods? If you try hard enough, I’ve found, you can believe anything. - L. Sprague de Camp

There must be something. No, nothing. But there must be, if she could only be clever enough to think of it. What, then? How do you know there is anything to think of? There simply must be. But that’s wretched logic; things don’t exist because you wish they did…

Berosos sighed. “Ah me! Once we, too, were a race of warriors and conquerors.”
“Be thankful you are no longer,” said Dikaiarchos. “These kings reap a bit of glory, but what do they accomplish besides burning cities, killing and enslaving multitudes, and destroying the accumulated wealth and wisdom of the ages to aggrandize their own mediocre selves? He who ascertains a new law of nature or invents a new device is greater than all your conquerors, and in the long run has more influence.”

For thousands of years, priests and philosophers have told us to love mankind without giving any sound reason for loving the creatures. The mass of them are a lot of cruel, treacherous, hairless apes. They hate us intellectuals, longhairs, highbrows, eggheads, or double-domes, despite—or perhaps because—without us they would still be running naked in the wilderness and turning over flat stones for their meals. Love them? Hah!