So what is left for those who now live, devoted body and soul, to our ideal of visible (and invisible) perfection on all levels? On a global scale, or even a national scale, absolutely nothing. It is too late. The twenty-fifth hour has come and gone, too long ago. On an individual scale, or at least on a restricted scale, we must preserve, insofar as it is still within our power, the beauty of the world: human, animal, vegetable, inanimate; all beauty. The elite minorities must be defended at all costs: all the noble minorities, whether they be the Aryans of Europe, Asia or America, conscious of the excellence of their common race, or the noble trees threatened with the atrocious uprooting by bulldozers for multitudes of two-legged mammals, less beautiful and less innocent than them.
It remains to watch and resist, and to help any beautiful minority attacked by the agents of chaos; to resist, even if it only delays by a few decades the disappearance of the last aristocrats. There is nothing else one can do, except, perhaps, to curse in one’s heart, day and night, today’s humanity (with very rare exceptions) and to work with all one’s might for their annihilation. There is nothing to do but to make oneself responsible for the end of this cycle, at least by wishing it ceaselessly, knowing that thought—and especially directed thought—is also a force, and that the invisible governs the visible.
[…] The passage of the poem quoted above reminds me of the title of a book published in France a few years ago: a cry of alarm at the idea that what will be, in a generation or two, the amplitude of human expansion on the surface of our unhappy planet: Six milliards d’insectes, i.e. six billion two-legged mammals with the habits and mentality of the termite mound.
Forests are mercilessly uprooted by bulldozers so that a human settlement, certainly less beautiful than it, disappears to make way for ‘laughter, vile noises, cries of despair.’
[…] The action which suppresses it for the benefit of man, that insatiable parasite, is a crime against the universal mother whose respect should be the first duty of a so-called thinking being. And it is almost consoling, for those who think and aren’t particularly enamoured of the two-legged mammal, to see that Mother Nature sometimes reacts to this outrage by manifesting herself in her terrible aspect.
 Editor’s note: At the time of editing this book the world population has exceeded 8 billion: double compared to the time when Savitri was writing her book.
 Leconte de Lisle, ‘Là Forêt Vierge’ (Poèmes Barbares).