Man Rarely Places A Proper Valuation Upon

The Great Task Demanded Of Man Is Reproduction. He Is Urged By Passion To Perform This Task. Passion, Working Through The Imagination, Produces Love. Passion Is The Impelling Factor, Imagination The Disturbing Factor; And The Disturbance Of Passion By Imagination Produces Love.

It Is So Much Easier To Live Placidly And Complacently. Of Course, To Live Placidly And Complacently Is Not To Live At All.

All My Life I Have Had An Awareness Of Other Times And Places. I Have Been Aware Of Other Persons In Me. Oh, And Trust Me, So Have You, My Reader That Is To Be. Read Back Into Your Childhood, And This Sense Of Awareness I Speak Of Will Be Remembered As An Experience Of Childhood. You Were Then Not Fixed, Not Crystallized. You Were Plastic, A Soul In Flux, A Consciousness And An Identity In The Process Of Forming--ay, Of Forming And Forgetting.

Had The Cub Thought In Man-fashion, He Might Have Epitomized Life As A Voracious Appetite, And The World As A Place Wherein Ranged A Multitude Of Appetites, Pursuing And Being Pursued, Hunting And Being Hunted, Eating And Being Eaten, All In Blindness And Confusion, With Violence And Disorder, A Chaos Of Gluttony And Slaughter, Ruled Over By Chance, Merciless, Planless, Endless.

But This Is Not A World Of Free Freights. One Pays According To An Iron Schedule--for Every Strength The Balanced Weakness; For Every High A Corresponding Low; For Every Fictitious God-like Moment An Equivalent Time In Reptilian Slime. For Every Feat Of Telescoping Long Days And Weeks Of Life Into Mad Magnificent Instants, One Must Pay With Shortened Life, And, Oft-times, With Savage Usury Added.