A snail hostelry; being a place where snails can snuggle up to
each other and relax without fear of being trodden on with the hobnail boots of a passing deity, rather like as with mankind with his relation to a country inn on
coming back from a
hard day’s labour.
If a
thoughtless snail can have faith in where it is going when it crosses the road to get to its escargatoire, why then cannot a man, who is much smarter,
cross the street without going in fear of his life? Is it because he thinks he lives in fear, or that he does not think
like a snail?