The Problem Of Translation Is To Retreat

For Mankind, Speech With A Capital S Is Especially Meaningful And Committing, More Than The Content Communicated. The Outcry Of The Newborn And The Sound Of The Bells Are Fraught With Mystery More Than The Baby's Woeful Face Or The Venerable Tower.

An Awkward Consequence Of Heightening Experience When One Is Inexperienced, Of Self-transcendence When One Has Not Much World To Lose, Is That Afterward One Cannot Be Sure That One Was Somewhere Or Had Newly Experienced Anything. If You Aren't Much In The World, How Do You Know You Are "out Of This World"?

The Ideal Of Having A Real Job That You Risk Your Soul In And Make Good Or Be Damned, Belongs To The Heroic Age Of Capitalist Enterprise, Imbued With Self-righteous Beliefs About Hard Work, Thrift, And Public Morals. Such An Ideal Might Still Have Been Mentioned In Public Fifty Years Ago; In Our Era Of Risk-insured Semimonopolies And Advertised Vices It Would Be Met With A Ghastly Stillness.

To Want A Job That Exercises A Man's Capacities In An Enterprise Useful To Society, Is Utopian Anarcho-syndicalism; It Is Labor Invading The Domain Of Management. No Labor Leader Has Entertained Such A Thought In Our Generation. Management Has The "sole Prerogative" To Determine The Products.

When There Is Official Censorship It Is A Sign That Speech Is Serious. Where There Is None, It Is Pretty Certain That The Official Spokesmen Have All The Loud-speakers.