It Is In The Nature Of The

... We Brush Aside All Scales Not Our Own, As If They Were Follies Or Delusions.

A Work Of Art Contains Its Verification In Itself: Artificial, Strained Concepts Do Not Withstand The Test Of Being Turned Into Images; They Fall To Pieces, Turn Out To Be Sickly And Pale, Convince No One. Works Which Draw On Truth And Present It To Us In Live And Concentrated Form Grip Us, Compellingly Involve Us, And No One Ever, Not Even Ages Hence, Will Come Forth To Refute Them.

Many Of You Have Already Found Out, And Others Will Find Out In The Course Of Their Lives, That Truth Eludes Us If We Do Not Concentrate Our Attention Totally On It's Pursuit. But Even While It Eludes Us, The Illusion Of Knowing It Still Lingers And Leads To Many Misunderstandings. Also, Truth Seldom Is Pleasant; It Is Almost Invariably Bitter.

I Had Grown Up Among Engineers, And I Could Remember The Engineers Of The Twenties Very Well Indeed: Their Open, Shining Intellects, Their Free And Gentle Humor, Their Agility And Breadth Of Thought, The Ease With Which They Shifted From One Engineering Field To Another, And, For That Matter, From Technology To Social Concerns And Art. Then, Too, They Personified Good Manners And Delicacy Of Taste; Well-bred Speech That Flowed Evenly And Was Free Of Uncultured Words; One Of Them Might Play A Musical Instrument, Another Dabble In Painting; And Their Faces Always Bore A Spiritual Imprint.

Even The Most Broad-minded Of Us Can Embrace Only That Part Of Truth Into Which Our Own Snout Has Blundered.