Every Man At The Bottom Of His

I Wondered Whether The Scientific Modern Brain Could Not Get To The Stage Of Realising That Space Is Not An Empty Homogeneous Medium, But Full Of Intricate Differences, Intelligible And Real, Though Not With Our Common Reality.

I Would Have Been Content With Any Job However Thankless, In Any Quarter However Remote, If I Had A Chance Of Making A Corner Of The Desert Blossom And The Solitary Place Glad.

Civilization Is A Conspiracy. Modern Life Is The Silent Compact Of Comfortable Folk To Keep Up Pretences.

Fortunately For Mankind The Brain In A Life Of Action Turns More To The Matter In Hand Than To Conjuring Up The Chances Of The Future.

"what Would You Call The Highest Happiness, Lewie?" He Asked. "the Sense Of Competence," Was The Answer, Given Without Hesitation.