The Sarcophagus of the Aesophagus.

The appetite is the white man's burden. The stomach, not the conscience, makes cowards of us all. Every action is dictated by interior motives. An army moves on its stomach—except when it lies down on it; commerce is a question of digestion; finance fructifies fallaciously on food; and even Art prefers the palate to the palette when confronted with the sarcophagus of the aesophagus. Progress is limited by lubrication. Nine tenths of man's time is spent in garnering the gastronomies and the other tenth in dispatching them: this is called the submerged tenth. He toils to titillate his tessellated topography with root crops and fret-worked fauna. He works to eat to live to work to eat to live, until he ceases to live to work to eat to live.

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