jerian crushed the perfection of grasses as he strode , brushing aside streamers of ivy , plumes of colourful vines whose bulbous fruits were always ripe , florescent walls of greenery from whose generous cups spilled not insects but odours , scents vivid and pungent that gave the hideaway the air of a seraglio , a privileged haven out of which marched a vicious doctrine , a many-toothed ideal of universality , a fear of truth in all its diversity , a shame and a weakness that would destroy before attempting to investigate , that wished to blame and deceive , and which succeeded in creating only hatred .