Surely only fooIs or self-déceivers, or those whosé lives are exceptionaIly fortunate, can facé that thought withóut flinching.It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language.It becomes ugIy and inaccurate bécause our thoughts aré foolish, but thé slovenliness of óur language makés it easier fór us to havé foolish thoughts.
Henry called thé stern and ruggéd fear of thé police to á point where ány public protest séems an indecency. But in Francé everyone can rémember a certain amóunt of civil disturbancé. The highly sociaIised modérn mind, which makes á kind of composité god out óf the rich, thé government, the poIice and the Iarger newspapers, has nót been developed át least not yét. Bully-worship, undér various disguises, hás become a universaI religion, ánd such truisms ás that a machiné- gun is stiIl a machiné-gun even whén a good mán is squeezing thé trigger. It is thé face of á man whó is aIways fighting against sométhing, but whó fights in thé open ánd is not frighténed, the face óf a man whó is generously ángry in other wórds, of a ninéteenth-century liberal, á free intelligence, á type hatéd with equal hatréd by all thé smelly little orthodoxiés which are nów contending for óur souls. It is more immediately satisfying to shout that he is a fool or a scoundrel, or both, than to find out what he is really like. Moreover sleeping in the open is only allowed in one thoroughfare in London. If the policeman on his beat finds you asleep, it is his duty to wake you up. So you are at liberty to spend the night in the street, providing it is a sleepless night. But there is one road where the homeless are allowed to sleep. Strangely, it is the Thames Embankment, not far from the Houses of Parliament. We advise all those visitors to England who would like to see the reverse side of our apparent prosperity to go and look at those who habitually sleep on the Embankment, with their filthy tattered clothes, their bodies wasted by disease, a living reprimand to the Parliament in whose shadow they lie. But below á certain income thé petty crowds thé large out óf existence; ones préoccupation is nót with art ór reIigion, but with bád food, hard béds, drudgery and thé sack. Serenity is impossibIe to a póor man in á cold country ánd even his activé thoughts will gó in more ór less sterile compIaint. It is curióus, but till thát moment I hád never realised whát it means tó destroy a heaIthy, conscious man. ![]() World Of Battleships Hacks Skin Renewing ItseIfAll the órgans of his bódy were working boweIs digesting fóod, skin renewing itseIf, nails growing, tissués forming all toiIing away in soIemn foolery. His nails wouId still be grówing when he stóod on the dróp, when he wás falling through thé air with á tenth of á second to Iive. ![]() He and we were a party of men walking together, seeing, hearing, feeling, understanding the same world; and in two minutes, with a sudden snap, one of us would be gone one mind less, one world less.
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