One of the recurring philosophical questions is:
   "Does a falling tree in the forest make a sound when there is no one to hear?"
   Which says something about the nature of philosophers, because there is always someone in a forest. It may only be a badger, wondering what that cracking noise was, or a squirrel a bit puzzled by all the scenery going upwards, but someone.
   . . .
   Things just happen, one after another. They don't care who knows. But history . . . ah, history is different. History has to be observed. Otherwise it's not history. It's just . . . well, things happening one after another.

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   He looked around. The gardens were well inside the temple complex, and surrounded by high walls.
   "How did you get in, little creature?" he said. "Did you fly?"
   The tortoise stared monoptically at him. Brutha felt a bit homesick. There had been plenty of tortoises in the sandy hills back home.
   "I could give you some lettuce," said Brutha. "But I don't think tortoises are allowed in the gardens. Aren't you vermin?"
   The tortoise continued to stare. Practically nothing can stare like a tortoise.
   Brutha felt obliged to do something.
   "There's grapes, he said. "Probably it's not sinful to give you one grape. How would you like a grape, little tortoise?"
   "How would you like to be an abomination in the nethermost pit of chaos?" said the tortoise.

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   The Voice of the Turtle was heard in the land.
   "Who's this bugger?"

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Bishops move diagonally. That's why they often turn up where the kings don't expect them to be.

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