Restore Human Legs As A Means Of

When Art Seems To Be Empty Of Meaning, As No Doubt Some Of The Abstract Painting Of Our Own Day Actually Does Seem, What The Painting Says, Indeed What The Artist Is Shrieking At The Top Of His Voice, Is That Life Has Become Empty Of All Rational Content And Coherence, And That, In Times Like These, Is Far From A Meaningless Statement.

Trend Is Not Destiny.

War Vies With Magic In Its Efforts To Get Something For Nothing.

The Cycle Of The Machine Is Now Coming To An End. Man Has Learned Much In The Hard Discipline And The Shrewd, Unflinching Grasp Of Practical Possibilities That The Machine Has Provided In The Last Three Centuries: But We Can No More Continue To Live In The World Of The Machine Than We Could Live Successfully On The Barren Surface Of The Moon.

The Philosophers Of Industrialism, From Bacon To Bentham, From Smith To Marx, Insisted That The Improvement Of Man's Condition Was The Highest Requirement Of Morality. But In What Did The Improvement Consist? The Answer Seemed So Obvious To Them That They Did Not Bother To Justify It: The Expansion And Fulfillment Of The Material Wants Of Man, And The Spread Of These Benefits, From The Few Who Had Once Preempted Them, To The Many Who Had So Long Lived On The Scraps Dives Had Thrown Into The Gutter.