Life Is Fired At Us Point Blank.

The Metaphor Is Perhaps One Of Man's Most Fruitful Potentialities. Its Efficacy Verges On Magic, And It Seems A Tool For Creation Which God Forgot Inside One Of His Creatures When He Made Him.

The Common Man, Finding Himself In A World So Excellent, Technically And Socially, Believes It Has Been Produced By Nature, And Never Thinks Of The Personal Efforts Of Highly Endowed Individuals Which The Creation Of This New World Presupposed. Still Less Will He Admit The Notion That All These Facilities Still Require The Support Of Certain Difficult Human Virtues, The Least Failure Of Which Would Cause The Rapid Disappearance Of The Whole Magnificent Edifice.

Commonplaces Are The Tramways Of Intellectual Transportation.

Towns Are Full Of People, Houses Full Of Tenants, Hotels Full Of Guests, Trains Full Of Travelers, Cafés Full Of Customers, Parks Full Of Promenaders, Consulting-rooms Of Famous Doctors Full Of Patients, Theatres Full Of Spectators, And Beaches Full Of Bathers. What Previously Was, In General, No Problem, Now Begins To Be An Everyday One, Namely, To Find Room.

The Trend Towards Pure Art Betrays Not Arrogance, As Is Often Thought, But Modesty. Art That Has Rid Itself Of Human Pathos Is A Thing Without Consequence.