Along With Being Forever On The Move,

One Of The Saddest Things About Conformity Is The Ghastly Sort Of Non-conformity It Breeds; The Noisy Protesting, The Aggressive Rebelliousness, The Rigid Counter-fetishism.

Nominally A Great Age Of Scientific Inquiry, Ours Has Become An Age Of Superstition About The Infallibility Of Science; Of Almost Mystical Faith In Its Non-mystical Methods; Above All-which Perhaps Most Explains The Expert's Sovereignty-of External Verities; Of Traffic-cop Morality And Rabbit-test Truth.

Has There Ever Been An Age So Rife With Neurotic Sensibility, With That State Of Near Shudders, Or Near Hysteria, Or Near Nausea, Much Of It Induced By Trifles, Which Used To Belong To People Who Were At Once Ill-adjusted And Over-civilized?

Prig And Philistine, Ph.d. And C.p.a., Despot Of English 218c And Big Shot Of The Kiwanis Club-how Much, At Bottom, They Both Hate Art, And How Hard It Is To Know Which Of Them Hates It The More.

Highly Educated Bores Are By Far The Worst; They Know So Much, In Such Fiendish Detail, To Be Boring About.