As A Whole Part Of "psychological Education"

And Somewhat As In Blind Night, On A Mild Sea, A Sailor May Be Made Aware Of An Iceberg, Fanged And Mortal, Bearing Invisibly Near, By The Unwarned Charm Of Its Breath, Nothingness Now Revealed Itself: That Permanent Night Upon Which The Stars In Their Expiring Generations Are Less Than The Glinting Of Gnats, And Nebulae, More Trivial Than Winter Breath; That Darkness In Which Eternity Lies Bent And Pale, A Dead Snake In A Jar, And Infinity Is The Sparkling Of A Wren Blown Out To Sea; That Inconceivable Chasm Of Invulnerable Silence In Which Cataclysms Of Galaxies Rave Mute As Amber.

This Continent, An Open Palm Spread Frank Before The Sky.

Understanding, And Action Proceeding From Understanding And Guided By It, Is One Weapon Against The World's Bombardment, The One Medicine, The One Instrument By Which Liberty, Health, And Joy May Be Shaped . . . In The Individual, And In The Race.

It Is A Peculiar Part Of The Good Photographer's Adventure To Know Where Luck Is Most Likely To Lie In The Stream, To Hook It, And To Bring It In Without Unfair Play And Without Too Much Subduing It.

It's Kind Of A Test, Mary, And It's The Only Kind That Amounts To Anything. When Something Rotten Like This Happens, Then You Have Your Choice. You Start To Really Be Alive, Or You Start To Die. That's All.