As For Hobbies, People With

One Of The Peculiar Ironies Of Being A Human Self In The Cosmos: A Stranger Approaching You In The Street Will In A Second's Glance See You Whole, Size You Up, Place You In A Way In Which You Cannot And Never Will, Even Though You Have Spent A Lifetime With Yourself, Live In The Century Of The Self, And Therefore Ought To Know Yourself Best Of All.

For Some Time Now The Impression Has Been Growing Upon Me That Everyone Is Dead. It Happens When I Speak To People. In The Middle Of A Sentence It Will Come Over Me: Yes, Beyond A Doubt This Is Death. There Is Little To Do But Groan And Make An Excuse And Slip Away As Quickly As One Can.

To Become Aware Of The Possibility Of The Search Is To Be Onto Something.

What Is The Nature Of The Search? You Ask. Really It Is Very Simple, At Least For A Fellow Like Me; So Simple That It Is Easily Overlooked. The Search Is What Anyone Would Undertake If He Were Not Sunk In The Everydayness Of His Own Life. This Morning, For Example, I Felt As If I Had Come To Myself On A Strange Island.

In This World Goodness Is Destined To Be Defeated. But A Man Must Go Down Fighting. That Is The Victory. To Do Anything Less Is To Be Less Than A Man.