What are you going to do with man? He does not believe in God, yet he believes that if the bridge of his nose itches he is sure to die; he will pass by a poet’s work, clear as day, all pervaded with harmony and the lofty wisdom of simplicity, and throw himself precisely on one in which some brave fellow bemuddles, befuddles, distorts, and perverts nature, and he likes it, and he starts shouting: “Here it is, the true knowledge of the heart’s secrets!” All his life he cares not a penny for doctors, and it ends up with him turning finally to some village wench, who treats him with mumbling and
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