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There’s a reaction to something that much bigger than you, an automatic assumption of menace that is built into the human brain: Big equals dangerous.
The problem was young and attractive. In my experience, the latter two frequently lead to the former.
Trust, but verify—that the person being trusted will be dead if she attempts betrayal.
“I am not a humanitarian. When I offer charity it is for tax purposes.”
That’s right, pretty boys. Mess with me, I’ll hit you so hard, your children will be born bruised.
“The government isn’t the mob, Harry.” “Aren’t they?” I asked. “Pay them money every year to protect you, and God help you if you don’t.”
You humans have the potential to be the most wonderful beings there are—if you can get past all these enormous stupid spots you seem to have in your hearts. It’s not your fault. You just don’t know how to work your hearts right yet. That’s why there are dogs. I think it’s nice to know your purpose.
Nothing is truly safe in this world—and that being the case, why worry about threats that have not yet appeared? Far wiser to make what preparations one could, face trouble as it arose, and be happy in the meantime.
That might be the saddest part of human heart-stupidity: how much happiness you simply leave aside so that you have enough time to worry. I know sometimes I’m not very smart, but I don’t see what’s so interesting about worry.
“Or else?” he asked. “There is nothing else,” I replied calmly. “You will do these things. The only question is whether you will do them of your own will or if I must teach you how.”
