The Present In New York Is So

As For Boredom ... I Notice That It Leaves Me As Soon As I Am Doing Something That Has Got To Be Done.

I Want To Find Someone On The Earth So Intelligent That He Welcomes Opinions Which He Condemns.

One Of The Deepest Impulses In Man Is The Impulse To Record, - To Scratch A Drawing On A Tusk Or Keep A Diary, To Collect Sagas And Heap Cairns. This Instinct As To The Enduring Value Of The Past Is, One Might Say, The Very Basis Of Civilization.

When A Man Talks With Absolute Sincerity And Freedom He Goes On A Voyage Of Discovery. The Whole Company Has Shares In The Enterprise.

The Reason For The Slow Progress Of The World Seems To Lie In A Single Fact. Every Man Is Born Under The Yoke, And Grows Up Beneath The Oppressions Of His Age. He Can Only Get A Vision Of The Unselfish Forces In The World By Appealing To Them, And Every Appeal Is A Call To Arms. If He Fights He Must Fight, Not One Man, But A Conspiracy. He Is Always At War With A Civilization. On His Side Is Proverbial Philosophy, A Galaxy Of Invisible Saints And Sages, And The Half-developed Consciousness And Professions Of Everybody. Against Him Is The World, And Every Selfish Passion In His Own Heart.