Doctors, By God; Washing Their Hands, Looking

Doctors, By God; Washing Their Hands, Looking Out Windows, Fiddling With Dreadful Things While You Are Stretched Out On A Table Or Half Undressed On A Chair.

Coming Down Was The Hardest Part Of Any Climbing.

All Men Are Lonely. But Sometimes It Seems To Me That We Americans Are The Loneliest Of All. Our Hunger For Foreign Places And New Ways Has Been With Us Almost Like A National Disease. Our Literature Is Stamped With A Quality Of Longing And Unrest, And Our Writers Have Been Great Wanderers.

After The First Establishment Of Identity There Comes The Imperative Need To Lose This New-found Sense Of Separateness And To Belong To Something Larger And More Powerful Than The Weak, Lonely Self. The Sense Of Moral Isolation Is Intolerable To Us.

The Trouble With Me Is That For A Long Time I Have Just Been An I Person. All People Belong To A We Except Me. Not To Belong To A We Makes You Too Lonesome.