I will not walk with your progressive apes, erect and sapient. Before them gapes the dark abyss to which their progress tends - if by God's mercy progress ever ends, and does not ceaselessly revolve the same unfruitful course with changing of a name. I will not tread your dusty path and flat, denoting this and that by this and that, your world immutable wherein no part the little maker has with maker's art. I bow not yet before the Iron Crown, nor cast my own small golden sceptre down.
(Mythopoeia, vers 12)