...because Life is thus described:
The look of the world's a lie, a face made up
O'er graves and fiery depths; and nothing's true
But what is horrible. If man could see
The perils and diseases that he elbows
Each day he walks a mile; which catch at him
Which fall behind and graze him as he passes;
Then would he know that life's a single pilgrim,
Fighting unarmed amongst a thousand soldiers
It is this infinite invisible
Which we must learn to know, and yet to scorn,
And, from scorn of that, regard the world
As from the edge of a far star
Death's Jest Book,
Thomas Lovell Beddoes
