A Good Teacher Feels His Way, Looking

In Our Truly Remarkable An Unexampled Civil Peace, Where There Are Rarely Fist Fights; Where No One Is Born, Is Gravely Ill, Or Dies; Where Meat Is Eaten But No One Sees An Animal Slaughtered; Where Scores Of Millions Of Cars, Trains, Elevators, And Airplanes Go Their Scheduled Way And There Is Rarely A Crash; Where An Immense Production Proceeds In Orderly Efficiency And The Shelves Are Duly Clears And Nevertheless None Of This Come To Joy Or Tragic Grief Or Any Other Final Good It Is Not Surprising If There Are Explosions.

There Is The Dumb Silence Of Slumber Or Apathy... The Fertile Silence Of Awareness, Pasturing The Soul... The Silence Of Peaceful Accord With Other Persons Or Communion With The Cosmos.

The Importance Of The Beats Is Twofold: First, They Act Out A Critique Of The Organized System That Everybody In Some Sense Agrees With. But Second-and More Important In The Long Run-they Are A Kind Of Major Pilot Study Of The Use Of Leisure In An Economy Of Abundance.

The Family Is The American Fascism.

To Translate, One Must Have A Style Of His Own, For The Translation Will Have No Rhythm Or Nuance, Which Come From The Process Of Artistically Thinking Through And Molding The Sentences; They Cannot Be Reconstituted By Piecemeal Imitation. The Problem Of Translation Is To Retreat To A Simpler Tenor Of One’s Own Style And Creatively Adjust This To One’s Author.