"… A proud and arrogant man, such as yourself — with an admittedly admirable qualityof didacticism about him — was given to doing research in the area of a certain disfiguring and degenerative disease. One day he contracted it himself. Since he had not yet developed a cure for the condition, he did take time out to regard himself in a mirror and say, 'But on me it does look good.' You are such a man... You will not attempt to fight your condition. Rather, you are proud of it. You betrayed yourself in your fury, so I know that I speak the truth when I say that the name of your disease is Kali. You would not give power into the hands of the unworthy if that woman did not bid you do it. I knew her of old, and I am certain that she has not changed. She cannot love a man. She cares only for those who bring her gifts of chaos. If ever you cease to suit her purposes, she will put you aside... The moral, therefore, of my sermon on this small mount is this — even a mirror will not show you yourself, if you do not wish to see. Cross her once to try the truth of my words, even in a small matter, and see how quickly she responds, and in what fashion. What will you do if your own weapons are turned against you..?"

“

"Everything that's miserable in the world," Nick the dwarf once said to me, "is because of beauty."

"Not truth or goodness?" I'd asked.
"Oh, they help. But beauty is the culprit, the real principle of evil."
"Not wealth?"
"Money is beautiful."
"So is anything else you don't have enough of – food, water, screwing..."
"Exactly!" he announced, slamming his beer mug down so heavily on the tabletop that a dozen heads were turned in our direction. "Beauty, goddamn it!"
"What about a good-looking guy?"
"They're either bastards because they know they've got it made, or they're self-conscious because they know other guys hate their guts. Bastards are always hurting other people, and the self-conscious guys screw themselves up. Usually they go queer or something, all because of that goddamn beauty!"
"What about beautiful objects?"
"They make people steal, or feel bad because they can't get at them. Damn –!"
"Wait a minute," I said. "It's not an object's fault that it's beautiful, or the pretty people's fault that they're pretty. It just happens that way."
He shrugged.
"Fault? Who said anything about fault?"
"You were talking about evil. That implies guilt somewhere along the line."
"Then beauty is guilty," he said. "Goddamn it!"
"Beauty, as an abstract principle?"
"Yes."
"And in individual objects?"
"Yes."
"That's ridiculous! Guilt requires responsibility, some kind of intent –"
"Beauty's responsible!"
"Have another beer."
He did, and belched again.
"Take a look at that good-looking guy over at the bar," he said, "that guy trying to pick up the broad in the green dress. Somebody's going to bust him one in the nose sometime. It wouldn't have to happen if he was ugly."
Nick later proved his point by busting the guy one in the nose, because he'd called him Shorty.

”