He speaks as if he had made himself, and had the right to dispose of himself; whereas it is society, civilisation, the State--call it what you will--that has given him everything he possesses, except his physical organs.

Take a philosopher who prides himself on his detachment from vulgar cares and desires, duties and troubles, and looks down upon the world with pity or contempt.

Suppose the world--that is to say, his human kind--revenged itself by refusing to have anything whatever to do with him, however indirectly; the philosopher would soon find himself detached with a vengeance.

And suppose it possible to go further than that; suppose the despised world could demand back from him all it had given, through the course of ages to his ancestors in him; behold Mr.Philosopher literally up a tree--a naked anthropoid, with a brain just capable of supplying his stomach and--perhaps--of saving him from wild beasts." Lord Dymchurch indulged a quiet mirth.
"You've got hold of a very serviceable weapon," he said, stretching his legs before him, and clasping his hands behind his head.

"I, for one, would gladly be convinced against individualism.