For Every Second Of Time

Language Has Unmistakably Made Plain That Memory Is Not An Instrument For Exploring The Past But Its Theater. It Is The Medium Of Past Experience, Just As The Earth Is The Medium In Which Dead Cities Lie Buried.

Let No Thought Pass Incognito, And Keep Your Notebook As Strictly As The Authorities Keep Their Register Of Aliens.

Opinions Are To The Vast Apparatus Of Social Existence What Oil Is To Machines: One Does Not Go Up To A Turbine And Pour Machine Oil Over It; One Applies A Little To Hidden Spindles And Joints That One Has To Know.

These Are Days When No One Should Rely Unduly On His Competence. Strength Lies In Improvisation. All The Decisive Blows Are Struck Left-handed.

He Who Seeks To Approach His Own Buried Past Must Conduct Himself Like A Man Digging... This Confers The Tone And Bearing Of Genuine Reminiscences. He Must Not Be Afraid To Return Again And Again To The Same Matter; To Scatter It As One Scatters Earth, To Turn It Over As One Turns Over Soil.