The Parent Who Could See

The Classics Are Only Primitive Literature. They Belong To The Same Class As Primitive Machinery And Primitive Music And Primitive Medicine.

In Ancient Times They Had No Statistics So They Had To Fall Back On Lies.

What We Call Creative Work, Ought Not To Be Called Work At All, Because It Isn't. I Imagine That Thomas Edison Never Did A Day's Work In His Last Fifty Years.

How Can You Shorten The Subject? That Stern Struggle With The Multiplication Table, For Many People Not Yet Ended In Victory, How Can You Make It Less? Square Root, As Obdurate As A Hardwood Stump In A Pasturenothing But Years Of Effort Can Extract It. You Can't Hurry The Process. Or Pass From Arithmetic To Algebra; You Can't Shoulder Your Way Past Quadratic Equations Or Ripple Through The Binomial Theorem. Instead, The Other Way; Your Feet Are Impeded In The Tangled Growth, Your Pace Slackens, You Sink And Fall Somewhere Near The Binomial Theorem With The Calculus In Sight On The Horizon.

The Great Man... Walks Across His Century And Leaves The Marks Of His Feet All Over It, Ripping Out The Dates On His Goloshes As He Passes.