Public Domain Books
As for us, we behave like a herd of deer. When they flee from the huntsman’s feathers(10) in affright, which way do they turn? What haven of safety do they make for? Why, they rush upon the nets! And thus they perish by confounding what they should fear with that wherein no danger lies. . . . Not death or pain is to be feared, but the fear of death or pain. Well said the poet therefore:
Death has no terror; only a Death of shame!
(10) Colored feathers fixed to ropes partly surrounding the cover.