blood-pulse of love for the working man, the half-conscious, deluded working man? Never. Each of these leaders has wanted to abstract him away from his own blood and being, into some foul Methuselah or abstraction of a man.

And me? There is no danger of the working man ever reading my books, so I shan’t hurt him that way. But oh, I would like to save him alive, in his living, spontaneous, original being. I can’t help it. It is my passionate instinct.

I would like him to give me back the responsibility for general affairs, a responsibility which he can’t acquit, and which saps his life. I would like him to give me back the responsibility for the future. I would like him to give me back the responsibility for thought, for direction. I wish we could take hope and belief