You, O weighty educatee of many volumes, believe that you have a bona fide vehemence for reading. You enclose literature in honour, and your closing decision would be to debase it to a worthless end. You are revived by a definite thirst to get out of piece of writing all that literature will impart. And in that aim you keep hold of on reading period of time after year, and the silvery hairs come in. But amid all this constant beating of the reservoir do you ever transport domestic animals of what you have acquired? Do you interruption to take home a valuation, in lingo of your own life, of that which you are every day absorbing, or think you are absorbing?
How can a man execute a psychical stocktaking? How can he put utility on what he gets from books? How can he effectively question paper in cold-blood, whether he is receiving from piece of writing all that writing has to supply him?