Give Me A Bed And A Book

Happiness Is A Wine Of The Rarest Vintage, And Seems Insipid To A Vulgar Taste.

An Improper Mind Is A Perpetual Feast.

But Man Is Above All A Social And Political Animal; His Relations With His Fellow Human Beings Form His Most Absorbing And Important Interest.

It Is The Dread Of Something Happening, Something Unknown And Dreadful, That Makes Us Do Anything To Keep The Flicker Of Talk From Dying Out.

What Shall I Compare It To, This Fantastic Thing I Call My Mind? To A Waste-paper Basket, To A Sieve Choked With Sediment, Or To A Barrel Full Of Floating Froth And Refuse? No, What It Is Really Most Like Is A Spider's Web, Insecurely Hung On Leaves And Twigs, Quivering In Every Wind, And Sprinkled With Dewdrops And Dead Flies. And At Its Centre, Pondering Forever The Problem Of Existence, Sits Motionless The Spider-like And Uncanny Soul.