If You Want To Be Your Own

Every Age Has A Keyhole To Which Its Eye Is Pasted. Spicy Court-memoirs, The Lives Of Gallant Ladies, Recollections Of An Ex-nun, A Monk's Confession, An Atheist's Repentance, True-to-life Accounts Of Prostitution And Bastardy Gave Our Ancestors A Penny Peep Into The Forbidden Room.

In Verity We Are The Poor. This Humanity We Would Claim For Ourselves Is The Legacy, Not Only Of The Enlightenment, But Of The Thousands And Thousands Of European Peasants And Poor Townspeople Who Came Here Bringing Their Humanity And Their Sufferings With Them. It Is The Absence Of A Stable Upper Class That Is Responsible For Much Of The Vulgarity Of The American Scene. Should We Blush Before The Visitor For This Deficiency?

All Ideas Advanced To Deal With The Florentine Noise Problem, The Florentine Traffic Problem, Are Utopian, And Nobody Believes In Them, Just As Nobody Believed In Machiavelli's Prince, A Utopian Image Of The Ideally Self-interested Despot.

Labor Is Work That Leaves No Trace Behind It When It Is Finished, Or If It Does, As In The Case Of The Tilled Field, This Product Of Human Activity Requires Still More Labor, Incessant, Tireless Labor, To Maintain Its Identity As A 'work' Of Man.

The Consumer Today Is The Victim Of The Manufacturer Who Launches On Him A Regiment Of Products For Which He Must Make Room In His Soul.