have sought. You lie in ignorance — like a tired dog sleeping in the mud."
"Stranger, it is equally useless to abuse either dogs or philosophers. We know not what dogs are or what we are. We know nothing."
"Old man, do you belong, then, to the absurd sect of sceptics? Are you one of those miserable fools who alike deny movement and rest, and who know not how to distinguish between the light of the sun and the shadows of night?"
"Friend, I am truly a sceptic, and of a sect which appears praiseworthy to me, though it seems ridiculous to you. For the same things often assume different appearances. The pyramids of Memphis seem at sunrise to be cones of pink light. At sunset they look like black triangles against the illuminated sky. But who shall solve the problem of their true nature? You reproach me with denying appearances, when, in fact, appearances are the only realities I recognise. The sun seems to me luminous, but its nature is unknown to me. I feel that fire burns — but I know not how or why. My friend, you understand me badly. Besides, it is indifferent to me whether I am understood one way or the other."
"Once more. Why do you live on dates and onions in the desert? Why do you endure great hardships? I endure hardships equally great, and,
