Haverford College - Record Yearbook (Haverford, PA)

Page 33 text:

No one is separate fidiii another, how diffieuh That is. I move, and the movement goes from Hfe To Hfe all around me. And yet I have to be Myself. And what is my freedom becomes Another person ' s compulsion. What are we to make Of this dilemma? Christopher Fry. f ' enus Observed R w . i M M K fi M M Confused, too late, you said. I love vou. Love! she said, and you were shocked to find you had made her angry; she did not know that, how- ever little you might be able to mean, still you had said these words first to her. And the words, once said, took on a life of their vou shared no friends, and yet own. their meanings grew upon vour hands, your bodies knew that you, branching and rebranching, touch was sacred, to touch was to coral-like, deep within vour mind. begin to love. The three words grew on and on, and you had to touch Leilani, most of what you had was touch — your families would never agree, John Ashmead. The Mountain and the Feather

Page 32 text:

COLLECTION — That which is collected; as: a gathering or as- semblage of objects or of persons; an accumulation of specimens of a certain class, as for ornamental or educational purposes. Webster ' s New International Dictionary (2nd Ed.) The devil of drowsiness is at his most potent, we find, about 10:30 P.M. At this period the human carcass seems to consider that it has finished its cycle, which began with so much courage nearly sixteen hours before. It be- gins to slack and the mind halts on a dead centre every now and then, refusing to complete the revolution. Now there are those who hold that this is certainly the seemlv and ap pointed time to go to bed and thev do so as a matter of routine. These are. commonly, the happier creatures, for they take the tide of sleep at the flood and are borne calmly and with gracious gentleness out to great waters of nothingness . . . . . . but they miss the admirable adventures of those more embit- tered wrestlers who will not give in without a struggle. These latter suffer severe pangs between 10:30 and 11:15 while they grapple with their fading faculties and seek to reestablish the will on its tottering throne. This requires courage stout, valour unbending. Once you yield, be it ever so little, to the tempter, you are lost. And here our poor barren clav plays us false, undermining the intellect with many a trick and wile. I will sit down for a season in that com- fortable chair. the creature says to himself, and read this sprightly novel. That will ease my mind and put me in humour for a continu- ance of livelv thinking. And the end of that man is a steadv nasal buzz from the bottom of the chair where he has collapsed, an un- sightlv object and a disgrace to humanity. Only by stiff persever- ance and rigid avoidance of easy chairs may the critical hour between 10:30 and 11:30 be safely passed. Tobacco, a self-brewed pot of tea. and a browsing along book- shelves ( remain standing and do not sit down with your book) are helps in this time of struggle . . . . . . those who survive this dras- tic weeding out which Night imposes upon her wooers — so as to cull and -choose only the truly meritorious lovers — experience supreme delights which are un- known to their snoring fellows. lien the struggle with somno- lence has been fought out and won, when the world is all-covering darkness and close-pressing silence, when the tobacco suddenly takes on fresh vigour and fra- grance and the books lie strewn about the table, when it seems as though all the rubbish and floating matter of the day ' s thoughts have poured away and only the bright, clear, and swift current of the mind itself remains, flowing hap- pilv and without impediment. Christopher Morley, Pipefuls Page 28

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Are you innocent? he asked. Yes, said K. The answering of this question gave him a feeHng of real pleasure, particularly as he was addressing a private individ- ual and therefore need fear no consequences. Nobody else had vet asked him such a frank question. To savor his elation to the full, he added: I am completely inno- cent. I see, said the painter, bending his head as if in thought. Suddenly he raised it again and said: If you are innocent, then the matter is quite simple. K ' s eyes darkened, this man who said he was in the confidence of the court was talking like an ignorant child. My innocence doesn ' t make the matter any simpler, said K. Franz Kafka. The