inhuman

is, as it were, a race of men running parallel to the human race consisting of artist who, goaded by unknown impulses, turn the lifeless soggy mass of dough that is humanity into bread, and then turn the bread into wine, and the wine into song.

Side by side with the human race there runs another race of beings, the inhuman ones, the race of artist who, goaded by unknown impulses, take the lifeless mass of humanity and by the fever and ferment with which they imbue it turn this soggy dough into bread and the bread into wine and the wine into song. Henry Miller

is to belong not to men, governments, creeds, principles, or the creaking machinery of humanity, but to the earth itself.

Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. To-day I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity I belong to the earth! Henry Miller

inhuman, n.All

inhuman