It Gradually Dawned Upon Me That There

Forgetfulness, The Unhistorical, Is ... The Atmosphere, In Which Alone Life Can Come Into Being. In Order To Understand It, Let Us Imagine A Youth Who Is Seized With A Passion For A Woman, Or A Man Who Is Swayed By A Passion For His Work. In Both Cases What Lies Behind Them Has Ceased To Exist And Yet This State (the Most Unhistorical That Can Be Imagined) Is That In Which Every Action, Every Great Deed Is Conceived And Accomplished.

School Is A Foretaste Of Life.

Six Hours A Day I Lived Under School Discipline In Active Intercourse With People None Of Whom Were Known To Those At Home, And The Other Hours Of The Twenty-four I Spent At Home, Or With Relatives Of The People At Home, None Of Whom Were Known To Anybody At School.

Poor Is The Power Of The Lead That Becomes Bullets Compared To The Power Of The Hot Metal That Becomes Types.

It Was Jolly In The Country. A Cow And Little Pigs To Play With And Milk Warm From The Cow.