“Everywhere the weak execrate the powerful, before whom they cringe; and the powerful beat them like sheep whose wool and flesh they sell. A million regimented assassins, from one extremity of Europe to the other, get their bread by disciplined depredation and murder, for want of more honest employment. Even in those cities which seem to enjoy peace, and[Pg 100] where the arts flourish, the inhabitants are devoured by more envy, care, and uneasiness than are experienced by a besieged town.
Secret griefs are more cruel than public calamities. In a word I have seen so much, and experienced so much that I am a Manichean."
"There are, however, some things good," said Candide. "That may be," said Martin; "but I know them not."”