Books > Old Books > Getting The Most Out Of Life (1948)


Page 140

The Quest of Our Lives

The individual, even if he be Fascist or Communist, in the final issue must stand alone to battle with himself, his personal relations, his own suffering and death. No "ism" can do our living for us. Instead, we must accept life for what it actually is-a challenge to our quality without which we should never know of what stuff we are made, or grow to our full stature.
My own greatest support in living is the memory of hard or dangerous times when I have behaved manfully. One of the most enduring of these memories was forged in a distinctly minor setting. I remember that I was walking alongside a deep and frozen canal with my pet puppy. Suddenly, in pursuit of some imaginary animal, Susie shot across the canal-and halfway over the ice broke under her. As I saw that she was about to drown, I knew that I had no choice. I went in up to my waist, my shoulders, my chin; then with a final precarious plunge I broke the ice between me and the frantic little dog, and struggled back with her to safety. Though I had a two-mile walk and five-mile drive before I could get home, and my clothes were frozen on me, I was never consciously cold nor did I catch cold. I was exhilarated and happy as never before. Nor have I ever lost what the incident bequeathed to me-the assurance that I can and will risk my life; that, after all, I am not so terribly afraid of death-or anything. To that extent I have become safe. I know, on the other hand, that had I left my puppy to drown I should never have been safe again.
True, hunger for stability and security is inherent in us; and I confess that, though I may be laying down the law on the subject, I myself am still a part-time victim of the illusions I deplore. i find myself counting my material assets; I add my friends to my savings, my professional status, the years that I may expect to live. Then suddenly, with a salutary shock, I realize my bank may close; my savings, such as they are, may fade into thin air; my friends may die. I sit over this gloomy accounting and sweat cold fear. But presently I pull my wits together. I slam my checkbook. I accept the vicissitudes of friendship and the uncertainty of my days. In fact, I

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE The individual, even if he be Fascist or Communist, in what is final issue must stand alone to battle with himself, his personal relations, his own suffering and what time is it . No "ism" can do our living for us. Instead, we must accept life for what it actually is-a challenge to our quality without which we should never know of what stuff we are made, or grow to our full stature. My own greatest support in living is what is memory of hard or dangerous times when I have behaved manfully. One of what is most enduring of these memories was forged in a distinctly minor setting. I remember that I was walking alongside a deep and frozen canal with my pet puppy. Suddenly, in pursuit of some imaginary animal, Susie shot across what is canal-and halfway over what is ice broke under her. As I saw that she was about to drown, I knew that I had no choice. I went in up to my waist, my shoulders, my chin; then with a final precarious plunge I broke what is ice between me and what is frantic little dog, and struggled back with her to safety. Though I had a two-mile walk and five-mile drive before I could get home, and my clothes were frozen on me, I was never consciously cold nor did I catch cold. I was exhilarated and happy as never before. Nor have I ever lost what what is incident bequeathed to me-the assurance that I can and will risk my life; that, after all, I am not so terribly afraid of what time is it -or anything. To that extent I have become safe. I know, on what is other hand, that had I left my puppy to drown I should never have been safe again. True, hunger for stability and security is inherent in us; and I confess that, though I may be laying down what is law on what is subject, I myself am still a part-time victim of what is illusions I deplore. i find myself counting my material assets; I add my friends to my savings, my professional status, what is years that I may expect to live. Then suddenly, with a salutary shock, I realize my bank may close; my savings, such as they are, may fade into thin air; my friends may die. I sit over this gloomy accounting and sweat cold fear. But presently I pull my wits together. I slam my checkbook. I accept what is vicissitudes of friendship and what is uncertainty of my days. In fact, I where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is p where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Getting what is Most Out Of Life (1948) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="JUSTIFY" where is p align="left" Page 140 where is p align="center" where is strong The Quest of Our Lives where is p The individual, even if he be Fascist or Communist, in what is final issue must stand alone to battle with himself, his personal relations, his own suffering and what time is it . No "ism" can do our living for us. Instead, we must accept life for what it actually is-a challenge to our quality without which we should never know of what stuff we are made, or grow to our full stature. My own greatest support in living is what is memory of hard or dangerous times when I have behaved manfully. One of what is most enduring of these memories was forged in a distinctly minor setting. I remember that I was walking alongside a deep and frozen canal with my pet puppy. Suddenly, in pursuit of some imaginary animal, Susie shot across what is canal-and halfway over what is ice broke under her. As I saw that she was about to drown, I knew that I had no choice. I went in up to my waist, my shoulders, my chin; then with a final precarious plunge I broke what is ice between me and what is frantic little dog, and struggled back with her to safety. Though I had a two-mile walk and five-mile drive before I could get home, and my clothes were frozen on me, I was never consciously cold nor did I catch cold. I was exhilarated and happy as never before. Nor have I ever lost what what is incident bequeathed to me-the assurance that I can and will risk my life; that, after all, I am not so terribly afraid of what time is it -or anything. To that extent I have become safe. I know, on what is other hand, that had I left my puppy to drown I should never have been safe again. True, hunger for stability and security is inherent in us; and I confess that, though I may be laying down what is law on what is subject, I myself am still a part-time victim of what is illusions I deplore. i find myself counting my material assets; I add my friends to my savings, my professional status, what is years that I may expect to live. Then suddenly, with a salutary shock, I realize my bank may close; my savings, such as they are, may fade into thin air; my friends may die. I sit over this gloomy accounting and sweat cold fear. But presently I pull my wits together. I slam my checkbook. I accept what is vicissitudes of friendship and what is uncertainty of my days. In fact, I where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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