The Idea Behind Stamped Money Is Sound.

In This Autumn Of 1919, In Which I Write, We Are At The Dead Season Of Our Fortunes.

In Truth, The Gold Standard Is Already A Barbarous Relic.

Economists Must Leave To Adam Smith Alone The Glory Of The Quarto, Must Pluck The Day, Fling Pamphlets Into The Wind, Write Always Sub Specie Temporis , And Achieve Immortality By Accident, If At All.

It Has Been Pointed Out Already That No Knowledge Of Probabilities, Less In Degree Than Certainty, Helps Us To Know What Conclusions Are True, And That There Is No Direct Relation Between The Truth Of A Proposition And Its Probability. Probability Begins And Ends With Probability.

The Difficulty Lies, Not In The New Ideas, But In Escaping From The Old Ones.