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Hilaire Belloc

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The Microbe is so very small
You cannot make him out at all,
But many sanguine people hope
To see him through a microscope.
--
"The Microbe"

 
Hilaire Belloc

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I know just enough about myself to know I cannot settle for one of those simplifications which indignant people seize upon to make understandable a world too complex for their comprehension. Astrology, health food, flag waving, bible thumping, Zen, nudism, nihilism -- all of these are grotesque simplifications which small dreary people adopt in the hope of thereby finding The Answer, because the very concept that maybe there is no answer, never has been, never will be, terrifies them.

 
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No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same.

 
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Many people wanna make money, make love,
make friends, make peace with death —
But most mainly want to win the game they came to win
they want to come out ahead.
But you, you're a rock, with a heart like a socket I can plug into at will.
And will you guess when I come around next.
I hope your open sign is blinking still.

 
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Many people wanna make money, make love,
make friends, make peace with death —
But most mainly want to win the game they came to win
they want to come out ahead.
But you, you're a rock, with a heart like a socket I can plug into at will.
And will you guess when I come around next.
I hope your open sign is blinking still.

 
St. (musician) Vincent
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