There Seems To Be A

On Any Morning These Days Whole Segments Of The Population Wake Up To Find Themselves Famous, While, To Keep Matters Shipshape, Whole Contingents Of Celebrities Wake Up To Find Themselves Forgotten.

The Materialistic Idealism That Governs American Life, That On The One Hand Makes A Chariot Of Every Grocery Wagon, And On The Other A Mere Hitching Post Of Every Star, Lets Every Man Lead A Very Enticing Double Life.

Today's Competitiveness, So Much Imposed From Without, Is Exhausting, Not Exhilarating; Is Unending-a Part Of One's Social Life, One's Solitude, One's Sleep, One's Sleeplessness.

The Technique Of Winning Is So Shoddy, The Terms Of Winning Are So Ignoble, The Tenure Of Winning Is So Brief; And The Specter Of The Has-been-a Shameful Rather Than A Pitiable Sight Today-brings A Sudden Chill Even To Our Sunlit Moments.

The Life Of Sense Begins By Assuming That We Can Only Fitfully Live The Life Of Reason.