Each One Of Us, As Long As

We Have Created An Industrial Order Geared To Automatism, Where Feeble-mindedness, Native Or Acquired, Is Necessary For Docile Productivity In The Factory; And Where A Pervasive Neurosis Is The Final Gift Of The Meaningless Life That Issues Forth At The Other End.

Our National Flower Is The Concrete Cloverleaf.

(the Processes Are) Doubly Ruinous: They Impoverish The Earth By Hastily Removing, For The Benefit Of A Few Generations, The Common Resources Which, Once Expended And Dissipated, Can Never Be Restored; And Second, In Its Technique, Its Habits, Its Processes, The Paleotechnic Period Is Equally Inimical To The Earth Considered As A Human Habitat, By Its Destruction Of The Beauty Of The Landscape, Its Ruining Of Streams, Its Pollution Of Drinking Water, Its Filling The Air With A Finely Divided Carboniferous Deposit, Which Chokes Both Life And Vegetation.

Not Sense Data Or Atoms Or Electrons Or Packets Of Energy, But Purposes, Interests, And Meanings, Constitute The Underlying Facts Of Human Experience.

Nothing About His Life Is More Strange To [man] Or More Unaccountable In Purely Mundane Terms Than The Stirrings He Finds In Himself, Usually Fitful But Sometimes Overwhelming, To Look Beyond His Animal Existence And Not Be Fully Satisfied With Its Immediate Substance. He Lacks The Complacency Of The Other Animals: He Is Obsessed By Pride And Guilt, Pride At Being Something More Than A Mere Animal, Built At Falling Short Of The High Aims He Sets For Himself.