The Irony Is That In Our Decades,

A Well-known Magazine Asks A Man How They Should Refer To Him, As Psychologist X, As Author X? He Suggests Man Of Letters, For That Is What He Is, In The Eighteenth-century Meaning. But They Can't Buy That Because The Word Doesn't Exist In Time-style; He Cannot Be That, And Presumably The Old Function Of Letters Cannot Exist.

In Our Truly Remarkable An Unexampled Civil Peace, Where There Are Rarely Fist Fights; Where No One Is Born, Is Gravely Ill, Or Dies; Where Meat Is Eaten But No One Sees An Animal Slaughtered; Where Scores Of Millions Of Cars, Trains, Elevators, And Airplanes Go Their Scheduled Way And There Is Rarely A Crash; Where An Immense Production Proceeds In Orderly Efficiency And The Shelves Are Duly Clears And Nevertheless None Of This Come To Joy Or Tragic Grief Or Any Other Final Good It Is Not Surprising If There Are Explosions.

The Philosophic Aim Of Education Must Be To Get Each One Out Of His Isolated Class And Into The One Humanity.

The Important Thing About Travel In Foreign Lands Is That It Breaks The Speech Habits And Makes You Blab Less, And Breaks The Habitual Space-feeling Because Of Different Village Plans And Different Landscapes. It Is Less Important That There Are Different Mores, For You Counteract These With Your Own Reaction-formations.

Penology...has Become Torture And Foolishness, A Waste Of Money And A Cause Of Crime...a Blotting Out Of Sight And Heightening Of Social Anxiety.