When my writings reach people’s hands, they will treat them like bewildered monkeys who’ve just discovered a new kind of tool or object, not knowing how to use it or what it’s for.

 When my writings reach people’s hands, they will treat them like bewildered monkeys who’ve just discovered a new kind of tool or object, not knowing how to use it or what it’s for. The reaction will not be comprehension but confusion. They’ll throw them away, then pick them up again. They’ll tear them apart, then try to put them back together. Those chimpanzees will dismiss my ideas, then return out simply of “curiosity”; they’ll misinterpret or distort my meaning, then attempt to “reconstruct” it. They don’t know how to read paradise.