There Is Nothing In The

It Has Been Wisely Said That We Cannot Really Love Anybody At Whom We Never Laugh.

Abroad It Is Our Habit To Regard All Other Travelers In The Light Of Personal And Unpardonable Grievances. They Are Intruders Into Our Chosen Realms Of Pleasure, They Jar Upon Our Sensibilities, They Lessen Our Meager Share Of Comforts, They Are Everywhere In Our Way, They Are Always An Unnecessary Feature In The Landscape.

I Wonder What Especial Sanctity Attaches Itself To Fifteen Minutes. It Is Always The Maximum And The Minimum Of Time Which Will Enable Us To Acquire Languages, Etiquette, Personality, Oratory ... One Gathers That Twelve Minutes A Day Would Be Hopelessly Inadequate, And Twenty Minutes A Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess.

Art... Does Not Take Kindly To Facts, Is Helpless To Grapple With Theories, And Is Killed Outright By A Sermon.

Our Dogs Will Love And Admire The Meanest Of Us, And Feed Our Colossal Vanity With Their Uncritical Homage.