I Wonder Whether If I

How Heroic To Be Able To Suppress One's Vanity To The Extent Of Confessing That The Game Is Too Hard.

If I Can Get On To My Sofa And Occupy Myself For Four Hours, At Intervals Through The Day, Scribbling My Notes, And Able To Read The Books That Belong To Me, In That They Clarify The Density, And Shape The Formless Mass Within, Life Seems Inconceivably Rich.

The Success Or Failure Of A Life, As Far As Posterity Goes, Seems To Lie In The More Or Less Luck Of Seizing The Right Moment Of Escape

I Wonder, Whether, If I Had Had Any Education I Should Have Been More, Or Less, Of A Fool Than I Am. It Would Have Deprived Me Surely Of Those Exquisite Moments Of Mental Flatulence Which Every Now And Then Inflate The Cerebral Vacuum With A Delicious Sense Of Latent Possibilities-of Stretching Oneself To Cosmic Limits, And Who Would Ever Give Up The Reality Of Dreams For Relative Knowledge?

It Is An Immense Loss To Have All Robust And Sustaining Expletives Refined Away From One! At. Moments Of Trial Refinement Is A Feeble Reed To Lean Upon.