Ha, knave - to in the same breath claim that thou art an atom unto thyself, and yet that thou art most assuredly a mere amalgam of water and of dust! Thy words do make a chimæra of thy thoughts. Thou may'st yet rival most noble Athena in many things, but never that thou did'st spring full-formed from any fearsome brow - Nay! Not adamant, but clay, or dust indeed! And your path, like all roads, leads from the quarry, to the sculptor's bench, and then - as you so rightly say - to Roman forms, and then beyond: your stones taken for hovels, the hovels razed to the ground, and so once again to dust, and aeons, and perhaps after aeons, to the quarry once more. No irony, in the end, but a trajectory common and inevitable. Mount thy concrete Galatea while thou can'st!