"Patience! It doesn't admit of patience. Do those fellows out there look patient?"
"A man may run and be patient."
"And he may also run and be a fool."
"Or be a bigger fool and not run. I am a believer in the world—in man."
"I'm not," said Goyle. "I know that the world is a trap and that man is caught. Puppies play, but the old dog lies down. He knows that life is a farce."
"The old dog lies down, it is true," Howard replied, "but he dreams of his youth and barks in his dream."
"And calls himself a fool when he awakes. It is the same with the old man. There comes a time when he loses confidence even in those who are nearest him." Out of the sharp corner of his eye he shot a glance at Howard and saw his countenance change. An old man, shriveled and wretched, with feather dusters for sale, came shambling into the room. Goyle glanced at him, and when he was gone, turned to Howard and said: "Ask his opinion of the world. He is your old dog who dreamed and barked in his dream."
"Goyle, I don't like the position you take. My experience and my reading teach me better."
Goyle glanced at him again. "Your reading, because what you read was written to flatter hope—to sell. Your experience is not ripe. It is not even green fruit. It is a bud. Oh, of course there are some old men, your father, for instance, who—"
"Well, what about him?"