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'What do you believe, then?' I countered. ¡¡¡¡'I believe that life is a mess,' he answered promptly. 'It is like yeast, a ferment, a thing that moves, and may move for a minute, an hour, a year, or a hundred years, but that in the end will cease to move. The big eat the little that they may continue to move; the strong eat the weak that they may retain their strength. The lucky eat the most and move the longest, that is all. What do you make of those things?' ¡¡¡¡He swept his arm in an impatient gesture toward a number of the sailors who were working on some kind of rope-stuff amidships. ¡¡¡¡'They move. So does the jellyfish move. They move in order to eat in order that they may keep moving. There you have it. They live for their belly's sake, and the belly is for their sake. It's a circle; you get nowhere. Neither do they. In the end they come to a standstill. They move no more. They are dead.'