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Sometimes, as you try to clear your mind of all the incidental clutter
with which it is filled up, and simultaneously you try to extract from it
a word, a thought, a concept you'd like to pronounce on, you can see the
said thought quietly enter through a door at the back of your mind, tiptoe
across the far wall, and exit on the other side with nary a glance in your
direction.
But it's wonderful when, on some lonely occasion like a trip to the lavatory, the same thought returns and, unaware of the insalubrious physical locality it does not creep back out into the mental night, but pulls up a chair, stirs the embers in the grate, opens a book, and begins to read. What a pleasure it is to have such thoughts about the brain. So knowledgeable, so generous in spirit, so cultured. Their every word is a honeyed drop of pleasure. What joy it is to allow these generous souls to take full possession of the mind, guiding it like a stately ship through the turbulent waters of mental activity. And then you have to get up and pull the chain. |
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