Monday, June 25, 2007
Sentiment
Sophisticates prate glibly of sentimentality in words of scorn and disgust. They sicken me.
When a man makes mock in small words of a heart torn from a bosom by the iron plowshare of fate, and held up to freeze in the light of the merciless stars - no matter what the cause - that man is either making a pitiful and sorry attempt to hide a wounded soul, or else he has never walked the road of thorns hand in hand with old Dame Sorrow and her daughter Agony. He is a cheap caricature of humanity. His soul is smaller than a mustard seed, and his soul would yet engulf his brain. Poor and doubly poor, the man who from a thinness of blood and a lack of virility, boasts of sophistication.
--Robert E. Howard, 1906-1936
When a man makes mock in small words of a heart torn from a bosom by the iron plowshare of fate, and held up to freeze in the light of the merciless stars - no matter what the cause - that man is either making a pitiful and sorry attempt to hide a wounded soul, or else he has never walked the road of thorns hand in hand with old Dame Sorrow and her daughter Agony. He is a cheap caricature of humanity. His soul is smaller than a mustard seed, and his soul would yet engulf his brain. Poor and doubly poor, the man who from a thinness of blood and a lack of virility, boasts of sophistication.
--Robert E. Howard, 1906-1936
