If You Are Losing Your

All Our Lives We Are Putting Pennies — Our Most Golden Pennies — Into Penny-in-the-slot Machines That Are Almost Always Empty.

The Emergence Of A New Term To Describe A Certain Phenomenon, Of A New Adjective To Designate A Certain Quality, Is Always Of Interest, Both Linguistically And From The Point Of View Of The History Of Human Thought.

We Need New Friends; Some Of Us Are Cannibals Who Have Eaten Their Old Friends Up; Others Must Have Ever-renewed Audiences Before Whom To Re-enact The Ideal Version Of Their Lives.

What Shall I Compare It To, This Fantastic Thing I Call My Mind? To A Waste-paper Basket, To A Sieve Choked With Sediment, Or To A Barrel Full Of Floating Froth And Refuse? No, What It Is Really Most Like Is A Spider's Web, Insecurely Hung On Leaves And Twigs, Quivering In Every Wind, And Sprinkled With Dewdrops And Dead Flies. And At Its Centre, Pondering Forever The Problem Of Existence, Sits Motionless The Spider-like And Uncanny Soul.

What Is More Mortifying Than To Feel That You Have Missed The Plum For Want Of Courage To Shake The Tree?