Thetorment of human frustration, whatever its immediate cause,is the knowledge that the self is in prison, its vital force and ‘mangledmind’ leaking away in lonely, wasteful self-conflict.
A large ocean liner was headed across the Atlantic fromPortsmouth to New York. As it neared its destination at night, a lookout onthe wing of the bridge reported, ‘Light, bearing on the starboardbow.’‘Is it steady or moving astern?’ the captain called out
Thegalleries are full of critics. They play no ball, they fight no fights. Theymake no mistakes because they attempt nothing. Down in the arena are thedoers. They make mistakes because they try many things. The man who makes nomistakes lacks boldness and