It Is Often Pleasant To

Nothing Is Intrinsically Valuable; The Value Of Everything Is Attributed To It, Assigned To It From Outside The Thing Itself, By People.

I Particularly Scorn My Fondness For Paradox. I Despise Pessimism, Narcissism, Solipsism, Truculence, Word-play, And Pusillanimity, My Chiefer Inclinations; Loathe Self-loathers Ergo Me; Have No Pity For Self-pity And So Am Free Of That Sweet Baseness. I Doubt I Am. Being Me’s No Joke.

Yet Everyone Begins In The Same Place; How Is It That Most Go Along Without Difficulty But A Few Lose Their Way?

The Genie Declared That In His Time And Place There Were Scientists Of The Passions Who Maintained That Language Itself, On The One Hand, Originated In 'infantile Pregenital Erotic Exuberance, Polymorphously Perverse,' And That Conscious Attention, On The Other, Was A 'libidinal Hypercathexis' - By Which Magic Phrases They Seemed To Mean That Writing And Reading, Or Telling And Listening, Were Literally Ways Of Making Love.

History - An Account, Mostly False, Of Events, Mostly Unimportant