Trend Is Not Destiny.

What Was Once Called The Objective World Is A Sort Of Rorschach Ink Blot, Into Which Each Culture, Each System Of Science And Religion, Each Type Of Personality, Reads A Meaning Only Remotely Derived From The Shape And Color Of The Blot Itself

The Great City Is The Best Organ Of Memory Man Has Yet Created.

By His Very Success In Inventing Labor-saving Devices, Modern Man Has Manufactured An Abyss Of Boredom That Only The Privileged Classes In Earlier Civilizations Have Ever Fathomed.

A Multitude Of Uniform, Unidentifiable Houses, Lined Up Inflexibly, At Uniform Distances, On Uniform Roads, In A Treeless Communal Waste, Inhabited By People Of The Same Class, The Same Income, The Same Age Group, Witnessing The Same Television Performances, Eating The Same Tasteless Prefabricated Foods, From The Same Freezers, Conforming In Every Outward And Inward Respect To The Common Mold.

Whereas Freud Was For The Most Part Concerned With The Morbid Effects Of Unconscious Repression, Jung Was More Interested In The Manifestations Of Unconscious Expression, First In The Dream And Eventually In All The More Orderly Products Of Religion And Art And Morals.