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whatever except as marks of
good and bad.
But the truth is that what they call bad or fictitious, or subjective, the intellectual part
of our knowledge, comprises all that is valuable on
its own account, while what they mark good,
or real, or objective, is nothing but the pretty
vessel that carries the precious thought.

I can excuse a person who has lost
a dear companion
and whose reason is in danger of giving
way under the grief, for trying, on that
account, to believe in a future life. I can
more than excuse him because his
usefulness is at stake. Although I myself
would not adopt a hypothesis, and would not