The human species, according to the best theory I can form of it, is composed of two distinct races, the men who borrow, and the men who lend. To these two original diversities may be reduced all those impertinent classifications of Gothic and Celtic tribes, white men, black men, red men. All the dwellers upon earth, “Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites,” flock hither, and do naturally fall in with one or other of these primary distinctions. The infinite superiority of the former, which I choose to designate as the great race, is discernible in their figure, port, and a certain instinctive sovereignty. The latter are born degraded. “He shall serve his brethren.” There is something in the air of one of this cast, lean and suspicious; contrasting with the open, trusting, generous manners of the other.

Observe who have been the greatest borrowers of all ages—Alcibiades, Falstaff, Sir Richard Steele—our late incomparable Brinsley what a family likeness in all four!

What a careless, even deportment hath your borrower! what rosy gills! what a beautiful reliance on Providence doth he manifest,—taking no more thought than lilies! What contempt for money,—accounting it (yours and mine especially) no better than dross. What a liberal confounding of those pedantic distinctions of meum and tuum! or rather, what a noble simplification of language (beyond Tooke), resolving these supposed opposites into one clear, intelligible pronoun adjective! What near approaches doth he make to the primitive community, to the extent of one half of the principle at least!

He is the true taxer who “calleth all the world up to be taxed;” and the distance is as vast between him and one of us, as subsisted betwixt the Augustan Majesty and the poorest obolary Jew that paid it tribute-pittance at Jerusalem!—His exactions, too, have such a cheerful, voluntary air! So far removed from your sour parochial or state-gatherers,—those ink-horn varlets, who carry their want of welcome in their faces! He cometh to you with a smile, and troubleth you with no receipt; confining himself to no set season. Every day is his Candlemas, or his Feast of Holy Michael. He applieth the lene tormentum of a pleasant look to your purse,which to that gentle warmth expands her silken leaves, as naturally as the cloak of the traveller, for which sun and wind contended! He is the true Propontic which never ebbeth! The sea which taketh handsomely at each man’s hand. In vain the victim, whom he delighteth to honour, struggles with destiny; he is in the net. Lend therefore cheerfully, O man ordained to lend—that thou lose not in the end, with thy worldly penny, the reversion promised. Combine not preposterously in thine own person the penalties of Lazarus and of Dives!—but, when thou seest the proper authority coming, meet it smilingly, as it were half-way. Come, a handsome sacrifice! See how light he makes of it! Strain not courtesies with a noble enemy.

Reflections like the foregoing were forced upon my mind by the death of my old friend, Ralph Bigod, Esq., who departed this life on Wednesday evening; dying, as he had lived, without much trouble. He boasted himself a descendant from mighty ancestors of that name, who heretofore held ducal dignities in this realm. In his actions and sentiments he belied not the stock to which he pretended. Early in life he found himself invested with ample revenues; which, with that noble disinterestedness which I have noticed as inherent in men of the great race, he took almost immediate measures entirely to dissipate and bring to nothing: for there is something revolting in the idea of a king holding a private purse; and the thoughts of Bigod were all regal. Thus furnished, by the very act of disfurnishment; getting rid of the cumbersome luggage of riches, more apt (as one sings)

he set forth, like some Alexander, upon his great enterprise, “borrowing and to borrow!” In his periegesis, or triumphant progress throughout this island, it has been calculated that he laid a tythe part of the inhabitants under contribution. I reject this estimate as greatly exaggerated:—but having had the honour of accompanying my friend, divers times, in his perambulations about this vast city, I own I was greatly struck at first with the prodigious number of faces we met, who claimed a sort of respectful acquaintance with us. He was one day so obliging as to explain the phenomenon.

It seems, these were his tributaries; feeders of his exchequer; gentlemen, his good friends (as he was leased to express himself), to whom he had occasionally been beholden for a loan. Their multitudes did no way disconcert him. He rather took a pride in numbering them; and, with Comus, seemed pleased to be “stocked with so fair a herd.”

With such sources, it was a wonder how he contrived to keep his treasury always empty. He did it by force of an aphorism, which he had often in his mouth, that “money kept longer than three days stinks.” So he made use of it while it was fresh. A good part he drank away (for he was an excellent toss-pot), some he gave away, the rest he threw away, literally tossing and hurling it violently from him—as boys do burrs, or as if it had been infectious,—into ponds, or ditches, or deep holes,—inscrutable cavities of the earth ;—or he would bury it (where he would never seek it again) by a river’s side under some hank, which (he would facetiously observe) paid no interest—but out away from him it must go peremptorily, as Hagar’s offspring into the wilderness, while it was sweet. He never missed it. The streams were perennial which fed his fisc. When new supplies became necessary, the first person that had the felicity to fall in with him, friend or stranger, was sure to contribute to the deficiency. For Bigod had an undeniable way with him. He had a cheerful, open exterior, a quick, jovial eye, a bald forehead, just touched with grey (cana fides). He anticipated no excuse, and found none. And, waiving for a while my theory as to the great race, I would put it to the most untheorising reader, who may at times have disposable coin in his pocket, whether it is not more repugnant to the kindliness of his nature to refuse such a one as I am describing, than to say no to a poor petitionary rogue (your bastard borrower), who, by his mumping visnomy, tells you, that he expects nothing better; and, therefore, whose preconceived notions and expectations you do in reality so much less shock in the refusal.

When I think of this man; his fiery glow of heart: his swell of feeling: how magnificent, how ideal he was; how great at the midnight hour; and when I compare with him the companions with whom I have associated since, I grudge the saving of a few idle ducats, and think that I am fallen into the society of lenders, and little men.

To one like Elia, whose treasures are rather cased in leather covers than closed in iron coffers, there is a class of alienators more formidable than that which I have touched upon: I mean our borrowers of books—those mutilators of collections, spoilers of the symmetry of shelves, and creators of odd volumes. There is Comberbatch, matchless in his depredations! That foul gap in the bottom shelf facing you, like a great eyetooth knockedout—(you are now with me in my little back study in Bloomsbury, reader!)—with the huge Switzer-like tomes on each side (like the Guildhall giants, in their reformed posture, guardant of nothing) once held the tallest of my folios, Opera Bonaventurae, choice and massy divinity, to which its two supporters (school divinity also, but of a lesser calibre,—Bellarmine, and Holy Thomas), showed but as dwarfs,— itself an Ascapart!—thatComberbatch abstracted upon the faith of a theory he holds, which is more easy, I confess, for me to suffer by than to refute, namely, that “the title to property in a book (my Bonaventure, for instance), is in exact ratio to the claimant’s powers of understanding and appreciating the same.” Should he go on acting upon this theory, which of our shelves is safe?

The slight vacuum in the left-hand case—two shelves from the ceiling—scarcely distinguishable but by the quick eye of a loser—was whilom the commodious resting-place of Brown on Urn Burial. C. will hardly allege that he knows more about that treatise than I do, who introduced it to him, and was indeed the first (of the moderns) to discover its beauties—but so have I known a foolish lover to praise his mistress in the presence of a rival more qualified to carry her off than himself—Just below, Dodsley’s dramas want their fourth volume, where Vittoria Corombona is! The remainder nine are as distasteful as Priam’s refuse sons, when the Fates borrowed Hector. Here stood the Anatomy of Melancholy, in sober state. There loitered the Complete Angler; quiet as in life, by some stream side.—In yonder nook, John Buncle, a widower-volume, with “eyes closed,” mourns his ravished mate.

One justice I must do my friend, that if he sometimes, like the sea, sweeps away a treasure, at another time, sea-like, he throws up as rich an equivalent to match it. I have a small under-collection of this nature (my friend’s gatherings in his various calls), picked up, he has forgotten at what odd places, and deposited with as little memory as mine. I take in these orphans, the twice-deserted. These proselytes of the gate are welcome as the true Hebrews. There they stand in conjunction; natives, and naturalised. The latter seem as little disposed to inquire out their true lineage as I am.—I charge no warehouse-room for these deodands, nor shall ever put myself to the ungentlemanly trouble of advertising a sale of them to pay expenses.

To lose a volume to C. carries some sense and meaning in it. You are sure that he will make one hearty meal on your viands, if he can give no account of the platter after it. But what moved thee, wayward, spiteful K., to be so importunate to carry off with thee, in spite of tears and adjurations to thee to forbear, the Letters of that princely woman, the thrice noble Margaret Newcastle?—knowing at the time, and knowing that I knew also, thou most assuredly wouldst never turn over one leaf of the illustrious folio— what but the mere spirit of contradiction, and childish love of getting the better of thy friend?—Then, worst cut of all! to transport it with thee to the Gallican land

hadst thou not thy play-books, and books of jests and fancies, about thee, to keep thee merry, even as thou keepest all companies with thy quips and mirthful tales?—Child of the Green-room, it was unkindly done of thee. Thy wife, too, that part-French, better-part Englishwoman!—that she could fix upon no other treatise to hear away, in kindly token of remembering us, than the works of Fulke Greville, Lord Brook—of which no Frenchman, nor woman of France, Italy, or England, was ever by nature constituted to comprehend a tittle! Was there not Zimmerman on Solitude?

Reader, if haply thou art blessed with a moderate collection, be shy of showing it; or if thy heart overfloweth to lend them, lend thy books; but let it be to such a one as S. T. C. —he will return them (generally anticipating the time appointed) with usury: enriched with annotations, tripling their value. I have had experience. Many are these precious MSS. of his—(in matter oftentimes, and almost in quantity not unfrequently, vying with the originals)—in no very clerkly hand—legible in my Daniel: in old Burton; in Sir Thomas Browne; and those abstruser cogitations of the Greville, now, alas! wandering in Pagan lands.—I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library, against S. T. C.

                BRAIN LEADS

                      ENGLISH

                ScHOOL system. 

      .             (2019-2020)

I hope that you have the best time of yours life

Worthy Mr. Principal,his Excellency Mrs.Principal ,most respected Teachers , Honourable parents and my dear school fellows

                Assalam o Alikum!

Today,I am M.AHMAd from class 6th.I am very proud to addressing you as a student of

 "BRAIN LEADS ENGLISH ScHOOL SYSTEM"

I want to talk about the most beautiful and wonderful personality we all have or had in our lives –

‘Mother’, ‘Mom’, ‘Maa’, ‘Amaa’,

 the words for this most beautiful soul sound similar across most languages and evoke similar connotations of love and warmth. She is the one who is no less than God for her child.  I identify her as the Goddess of Multitasking, you say a thing or just give it a thought and she does that. From cooking to earning and from pampering to scolding us form wrongs

Honourable Guests

I believe that she  made us capable of facing this world with dignity, confidence and power.

Let’s ask ourselves, isn’t it she the one who flashes before our mind when we feel scared by a thought or lie sick in our bed. Yes!

 My dear Fellows,

 She is the one. I mean "Mom"

Mr.president:

 it is only the Mother who carries the entire world in her and has been blessed with the power to nurture a complete life in her womb that too with intense love

To conclude, I will like all of you to Always be grateful to her as you owe this life to her. Each one of us has this responsibility of respecting and looking after her. You may call it her love or sacrifice, but she is the only one who has made our existence worthwhile.

Love you, Maa!

Thank You!

.                     By: Frid Ud Din Attar

E. M. Forster 1927

Aspects of the Novel is the publication of a series of lectures on the English language novel, delivered by E. M. Forster at Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1927. Using examples of classic works by many of the world's greatest writers, he discusses seven aspects he deems universal to the novel: story, characters, plot, fantasy, prophecy, pattern, and rhythm.

Forster dismisses the method of examining the novel as a historical development, in preference to an image of all novelists throughout history writing simultaneously, side by side. He first establishes that, if nothing else, a novel is a story that takes place over a period of time. He stresses the importance of character, maintaining that both "flat" and "round" characters may be included in the successful novel. He regards the necessity of plot, which creates the effect of suspense, as a problem by which character is frequently sacrificed in the service of providing an ending to the novel. Fantasy and prophecy, which provide a sense of the "universal," or spiritual, Forster regards as central aspects of the great novel. Finally, he dismisses the value of "pattern," by which a narrative may be structured, as another aspect that frequently sacrifices the vitality of character. Drawing on the metaphor of music, Forster concludes that rhythm, which he defines as "repetition plus variation," allows for an aesthetically pleasing structure to emerge from the novel, while maintaining the integrity of character and the open-ended quality that gives novels a feeling of expansiveness.

Edward Morgan Forster was born in London on January 1, 1879, the only surviving son of Edward Morgan Llewellyn Forster, an architect, and Alice Clara Forster. Forster's father died of tuberculosis in 1880, and he was subsequently raised by several female family members, in addition to his mother, all of whom made a strong impression on his youth, and some of whom eventually turned up as characters in his novels. Marianne Thornton, his greataunt on his father's side, died in 1886, leaving him an inheritance, which paid for his secondary and college education, as well as his subsequent world travels, and bought him the leisure to pursue the craft of writing. Forster recalled bitter memories of his time spent as a day attendant at Tonbridge School in Kent, from 1893 to 1897. In 1897, he enrolled in King's College, Cambridge, where he was grateful to be exposed to the liberal atmosphere and ideas lacking in his education up to that point.

Upon graduating with a bachelor of arts degree in classics and history, Forster went abroad and devoted himself to a writing career. He lived in Greece and Italy from 1901 to 1907, during which his first novel, Where Angels Fear to Tread (1905) was published. Upon returning to England, he lectured at Working Men's College. His second and third novels, The Longest Journey(1907), and A Room With a View(1908) appeared during this time. Howard's End (1910), his first major literary success, was a critique of the British upper class. In 1912, he made one of several trips to India. During a period including World War I, Forster worked as a Red Cross volunteer in Alexandria from 1915 to 1919. When the war ended, he returned to England, serving as literary editor of the Labor Party's Daily Herald, and contributing to journals such as Nation and New Statesman.

From 1921, Forster held various prestigious lectureships in England, and gave a lecture tour in the United States in 1941. He became associated with the London intellectual and literary salon known as the Bloomsbury Group, which included such celebrated modernist writers as Virginia Woolf. His second masterpiece, A Passage to India, was published in 1924, after which he published no more novels during his lifetime, devoting himself to nonfiction writing, such as essays, literary criticism, and biography. In addition to Aspects of the Novel, two important essay collections were Abinger Harvest (1936) and Two Cheers for Democracy (1951). After his death on June 7, 1970, in Coventry, England, his novel Maurice (1971) was published for the first time, apparently suppressed by the author because of its autobiographical content concerning a young homosexual man.

In an introductory chapter, Forster establishes the ground rules for his discussion of the English novel. He defines the novel simply—according to M. Abel Chevalley in Le Roman Anglais de notre temps, as "a fiction in prose of a certain extent." He goes on to define English literature as literature written in the English language, regardless of the geographic location or origin of the author. Most importantly, Forster makes clear that this discussion will not be concerned with historical matters, such as chronology, periodization, or development of the novel. He makes clear that "time, all the way through, is to be our enemy." Rather, he wishes to imagine the world's great novelists from throughout history sitting side by side in a circle, in "a sort of British Museum reading room—all writing their novels simultaneously." Finally, he acknowledges the intended ambiguity of the phrase "aspects of the novel" to indicate an open-ended discussion in which he will cover seven of these "aspects": story, characters, plot, fantasy, prophecy, pattern, and rhythm.

In a chapter on "The Story," Forster begins with the assertion that the novel, in its most basic definition, tells a story. He goes on to say that a story must be built around suspense—the question of "what happens next?" He thus defines the story as "a narrative of events arranged in their time sequence." Forster adds that a good novel must include a sense of value in the story. He then discusses The Antiquary, by Sir Walter Scott, as an example of a novel that is built on a series of events that narrate "what happens next." However, he criticizes The Antiquary as a novel that adheres to a sequence of events but has no sense of value in the story. Forster refers to Russian novelist Tolstoy's War and Peace as an example that includes value in a narrative of events that unfold over time. He brings up the American writer Gertrude Stein as an example of a novelist who has attempted to abolish time from the novel, leaving only value. However, he declares this a failure that results in nonsense.

In two chapters entitled "People," Forster discusses characterization in the novel. He describes five "main facts of human life," which include "birth, food, sleep, love, and death," and then compares these five activities as experienced by real people (homo sapiens) to these activities as enacted by characters in novels (homo fictus). He goes on to discuss the character of Moll Flanders, in the novel by Defoe of the same title. Forster focuses on Moll Flandersas a novel in which the form is derived from the development of the main character. In a second lecture on characters, Forster distinguishes between flat characters, whose characterization is relatively simple and straightforward, and round characters, whose characterization is more complex and developed. Forster finds advantages in the use of both flat and round characters in the novel. He points to Charles Dickens as an example of a novelist nearly all of whose characters are flat but who nonetheless creates "a vision of humanity that is not shallow." He spends less time discussing round characters but provides the examples of Russian novelists Leo Tolstoy and Fyodor Dostoyevski, most of whose characters are round. Forster moves on to a brief mention of point of view, concluding that novels with a shifting or inconsistent point of view are not problematic if the author possesses the skill to integrate these shifts into the narrative whole.

In a chapter on plot, Forster defines plot as a narrative of events over time, with an emphasis on causality. He claims that the understanding of plot requires two traits in the reader: intelligence and memory. He discusses George Meredith who, he claims, though not a great novelist, is one of England's greatest masters of the plot. He then turns to Thomas Hardy as an example of a novelist whose plots are heavily structured at the expense of the characters; in other words, the characters are drawn to fit the measure of the plot and therefore lack a life of their own. He asserts that "nearly all novels are feeble at the end," because the dictates of plot require a resolution, which the novelists write at the expense of the characters. He adds that "death and marriage" are the most convenient recourse of the novelist in formulating an ending. He provides the example of André Gide's Les Faux monnayeurs as a novel in which the author attempted to do away with plot completely, concluding that, though plot often threatens to suffocate the life out of characters, it is nonetheless an essential aspect of the novel.

In a chapter on fantasy, Forster asserts that two important aspects of the novel are fantasy and prophecy, both of which include an element of mythology. Using the novel Tristram Shandy, by Sterne, as an example, Forster claims even novels that do not include literal elements of the supernatural may include an implication that supernatural forces are at work. He lists some of the common devices of fantasy used by novelists, "such as the introduction of a god, ghost, angel, or monkey, monster, midget, witch into ordinary life." He adds to this list "the introduction of ordinary men into no-man's land, the future, the past, the interior of the earth, the fourth dimension; or divings into and dividings of personality. He goes on to discuss the devices of parody and adaptation as elements of fantasy, which, he says, are especially useful to talented authors who are not good at creating their own characters. He points to Joseph Andrews, by Henry Fielding, which began as a parody of Pamela, by Richardson. He goes on to the example of Ulysses, by James Joyce, which is an adaptation from the ancient text the Odyssey, based on Greek myth.

Forster describes the aspect of prophecy in a novel as "a tone of voice" of the author, a "song" by which "his theme is the universe," although his subject matter may be anything but universal. He notes that the aspect of prophecy demands of the reader both "humility" and "the suspension of a sense of humor." He then compares Dostoevsky to George Eliot, concluding that, though both express a vision of the universal in their novels, Eliot ends up being preachy, whereas Dostoevsky successfully expresses a "prophetic song" without preaching. Forster confesses that there are only four writers who succeed in creating prophetic novels: Dostoevsky, Melville, D. H. Lawrence, and Emily Brontë. He discusses passages from Moby Dick and the short story "Billy Budd" in order to illustrate Melville's prophetic voice and from Wuthering Heights for a discussion of Brontë as "a prophetess." He points to D. H. Lawrence as the only living novelist whose work is successfully prophetic.

In a chapter on pattern and rhythm, Forster describes the aspect of pattern in the novel in terms of visual art. He describes the narrative pattern of Thaïs, by Anatole France, as that of an hourglass and the novel Roman Pictures, by Percy Lubbock, as that of a chain. He determines that pattern adds an aesthetic quality of beauty to a novel. Forster then discusses the novel The Ambassadors, by Henry James, which, he claims, sacrifices the liveliness of the characters to the rigid structure of an hourglass pattern. Forster concludes that the problem of pattern in novels is that it "shuts the door on life." He then turns to the aspect of rhythm, which he describes as "repetition plus variation," as better suited to the novel than is pattern. He describes the multi-volume novel Remembrance of Things Past, by Marcel Proust, as an example of the successful use of rhythm. Forster concludes that rhythm in the novel provides a more open-ended narrative structure without sacrificing character.

In a brief conclusion, Forster speculates as to the future of the novel, asserting that it will in fact not change at all because human nature does not change. He concludes that "the development of the novel" is no more than "the development of humanity."

Part I: Causes of Unhappiness
Ch 1: What makes people unhappy?
 The causes of these various kinds of unhappiness lie partly in the social system, partly in individual psychology -- which, of course, is itself to a considerable extent a product of the social system.
 I believe this unhappiness to be very largely due to mistaken views of the world, mistaken 'ethics, mistaken habits of life, leading to destruction of that natural zest and appetite for possible things upon which all happiness, whether of men or animals, ultimately depends. These are matters which lie within the power of the individual.
 Sources of Russell’s own unhappiness in the past: meditating on my sins, follies, and shortcomings. I seemed to myself a miserable specimen. Self-absorption is the problem.
 3 types of self-absorbed persons: the sinner, the narcissist, and the megalomaniac. The cure to self-absorption is to turn your attention to the external world, to friends, and state of the world.
 Narcissist feels the need to be admired and loved. Vanity, when it passes beyond a point, kills pleasure in every activity for its own sake, and thus leads inevitably to listlessness and boredom. Often its source is diffidence, and its cure lies in the growth of self-respect.
 Megalomaniac seeks to be powerful and to be feared. Alexander the Great was the greatest conqueror known to fame; he decided that he was a god. Was he a happy man? His drunkenness, his furious rages, his indifference to women, and his claim to divinity, suggest that he was not.
 Usually the megalomaniac, whether insane or nominally sane, is the product of some excessive humiliation. Napoleon suffered at school from inferiority to his schoolfellows, who were rich aristocrats, while he was a penurious scholarship boy.
 Drunkenness is temporary suicide; the happiness that it brings is merely negative, a momentary cessation of unhappiness.
Ch 2: Byronic Unhappiness
 It is common in our day, as it has been in many other periods of the world's history, to suppose that those among us who are wise have seen through all the enthusiasms of earlier times and have become aware that there is nothing left to live for. The men who hold this view are genuinely unhappy, but they are proud of their unhappiness, which they consider to be the only rational attitude for an enlightened man.
 For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.
 The man who acquires easily things for which he feels only a very moderate desire concludes that the attainment of desire does not bring happiness. To be without some of the things you want is an indispensible part of happiness.
 Love a source of delight, but its absence is a source of pain. Love is to be valued because it enhances all the best pleasures, such as music, and sunrise in mountains, and the sea under the full moon. A man who has never enjoyed beautiful things in the company of a woman whom he loved has not experienced to the full the magic power of which such things are capable.
 Literary coteries have no vital contact with the life of the community, and such contact is necessary if men's feelings are to have the seriousness and depth within which both tragedy and true happiness proceed.
 To feel tragedy, a man must be aware of the world in which he lives, not only with his mind, but with his blood and sinews.
Ch 3: Competition
 Struggle for ‘life’ or success. What people fear when they engage in the struggle is not that they will fail to get their breakfast next morning, but that they will fail to outshine their neighbours.
 Such a person knows nothing about the lives of his children and his wife. He is engaged in a race that has only the grave as the end goal
 The root of the trouble springs from too much emphasis upon competitive success as the main source of happiness.
 Unless a man has been taught what to do with success after getting it, the achievement of it must inevitably leave him a prey to boredom.
 The trouble arises from the generally received philosophy of life, according to which life is a contest, a competition, in which respect is to be accorded to the victor. This view leads to an undue cultivation of the will at the expense of the senses and the intellect.
Ch 4: Boredom and Excitement
 One of the essentials of boredom consists in the contrast between present circumstances and some other more agreeable circumstances
 The opposite of boredom, in a word, is not pleasure, but excitement.

 Excitement has been desired especially by males. The chase was exciting, war was exciting, courtship was exciting.
 We are less bored than our ancestors were, but we are more afraid of boredom. We have come to know, or rather to believe, that boredom is not part of the natural lot of man, but can be avoided by a sufficiently vigorous pursuit of excitement.
 As we rise in the social scale the pursuit of excitement becomes more and more intense.
 A life too full of excitement is an exhausting life, in which continually stronger stimuli are needed to give the thrill that has come to be thought an essential part of pleasure. 
 The capacity to endure a more or less monotonous life is one which should be acquired in childhood. Modern parents are greatly to blame in this respect; they provide their children with far too many passive amusements, such as shows and good things to eat.
 A happy life must be to a great extent a quiet life, for it is only in an atmosphere of quiet that true joy can live.
Ch 5: Fatigue
 Purely physical fatigue, provided it is not excessive, tends if anything to be a cause of happiness; it leads to sound sleep and a good appetite, and gives zest to the pleasures that are possible on holidays. But when it is excessive it becomes a very grave evil. 
 Nervous fatigue is common in advanced communities. Working hours, constant noise and presence of strangers, hurry to get to work, fear of being fired. Fatigue is due to worry. Worry could be prevented by a better philosophy of life and a little more mental discipline. Shut out the ordinary troubles of ordinary days except when they have to be dealt with. Nothing is so exhausting as indecision. The result of all this is that when sound success comes a man is already a nervous wreck, so accustomed to anxiety that he cannot shake off the habit of it when the need for it is past. 
 It is amazing how much both happiness and efficiency can be increased by the cultivation of an orderly mind, which thinks about a matter adequately at the right time rather than inadequately at all times.
 A great many worries can be diminished by realizing the unimportance of the matter which is causing the anxiety.
 Worry is a form of fear, and all forms of fear produce fatigue. Another source of fatigue: excitement.
Ch 6: Envy
 Envy is one form of a vice, partly moral, partly intellectual, which consists in seeing things never in themselves, but only in their relations. 
 Of all the characteristics of ordinary human nature envy is the most unfortunate; not only does the envious person wish to inflict misfortune and do so whenever he can with impunity, but he is also himself rendered unhappy by envy. Instead of deriving pleasure from what he has, he derives pain from what others have.
 Merely to realize the causes of one's own envious feelings is to take a long step towards curing them. 
 Unnecessarily modest people believe themselves to be outshone by those with whom they habitually associate. They are therefore particularly prone to envy, and, through envy, to unhappiness and ill will. 
 To find the right road out of this despair civilized man must enlarge his heart as he has enlarged his mind. 
Ch 7: The Sense of Sin
 The word 'conscience' covers as a matter of fact, several different feelings; the simplest of these is the fear of being found out. Closely allied with this feeling is the fear of becoming an outcast from the herd. 
 The sense of sin has its roots in the unconscious. Infantile moral teachings play a big role. 
 If a child has been conventionally educated by somewhat stern parents or nurses, the association between sin and the sex organs is so firmly established by the time he is six years old that it is unlikely ever to be completely undone throughout the rest of his life. 
 Whenever you begin to feel remorse for an act which your reason tells you is not wicked, examine the causes of your feeling of remorse, and convince yourself in detail of their absurdity. 
 I am not suggesting that a man should be destitute of morality; I am only suggesting that he should be destitute of superstitious morality, which is a very different thing. 
Ch 8: Persecution Mania
 We are all familiar with the type of person, man or woman, who, according to his own account, is perpetually the victim of ingratitude, unkindness, and treachery.
 The trouble, in fact, is a difficult one to deal with, since it is inflamed alike by sympathy and by lack of sympathy. The person inclined to persecution mania, when he finds a hard-luck story believed, will embellish it until he reaches the frontier of credibility; when, on the other hand, he finds it disbelieved, he has merely another example of the peculiar hard-heartedness of mankind towards himself.
 Persecution mania is always rooted in a too exaggerated conception of our own merits. We think we have no faults.
 Another not uncommon victim of persecution mania is a certain type of philanthropist who is always doing good to people against their will, and is amazed and horrified that they display no gratitude.
 The first is: remember that your motives are not always as altruistic as they seem to yourself. The second is: don't over-estimate your own merits. The third is: don't expect others to take as much interest in you as you do yourself. And the fourth is: don't imagine that most people give enough thought to you to have any special desire to persecute you.
Ch 9: Fear of Public Opinion
 Very few people can be happy unless on the whole their way of life & their outlook on the world is approved by other people.
 If a man is once launched upon the right career and in the right surroundings, he can in most cases escape social persecution, but while he is young and his merits are still untested, he is liable to be at the mercy of ignorant people who consider themselves capable of judging in matters about which they know nothing, and who are outraged at the suggestion that so young a person may know better than they do with all their experience of the world. 
 One should as a rule respect public opinion in so far as is necessary to avoid starvation and to keep out of prison, but anything that goes beyond this is voluntary submission to an unnecessary tyranny.
 Fear of public opinion, like every other form of fear, is oppressive and stunts growth. It is difficult to achieve any kind of greatness while a fear of this kind remains strong, and it is impossible to acquire that freedom of spirit in which true happiness consists.
 The only ultimate cure for this evil is, however, an increase of toleration on the part of the public. 
Part II: Causes of Happiness
Is Happiness Still Possible?
 Happiness is of two sorts. Perhaps the simplest way to describe the difference between the two sorts of happiness is to say that one sort is open to any human being, and the other only to those who can read and write i.e. of the heart and head. E.g. the happiness of an uneducated gardener at chasing after rabbits.
 The difference made by education is only in regard to the activities by which these pleasures are to be obtained. 
 Men of science quite frequently remain capable of old-fashioned domestic bliss. The reason for this is that the higher parts of their intelligence are wholly absorbed by their work. In their work they are happy because in the modern world science is progressive and powerful.
 The pleasure of work is open to anyone who can develop some specialized skill.
 Belief in a cause is a source of happiness to large numbers of people. Not so very far removed from the devotion to obscure causes is absorption in a hobby. 
 A friendly interest in persons, the kind that likes to observe people and finds pleasure in their individual traits will be a source of happiness. The same idiosyncrasies which would get on another man's nerves to the point of exasperation will be to him a source of gentle amusement. He will achieve without effort results which another man, after long struggles, will find to be unattainable. 
 The secret of happiness is this: let your interests be as wide as possible, and let your reactions to the things and persons that interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than hostile. 
Zest
 What hunger is in relation to food, zest is in relation to life. Some people eat food with a sense of duty, some are epicure who think food is not cooked well enough, some find every meal a bore, some are gormandizers who fall upon the food eagerly, and finally there are those who begin with a sound appetite, are glad of their food, eat until they have had enough, and then stop.
 Life could never be boring to a man to whom casual objects offer a wealth of interest. 
 The more things a man is interested in, the more opportunities of happiness he has and the less he is at the mercy of fate, since if he loses one thing he can fall back upon another. Life is too short to be interested in everything, but it is good to be interested in as many things as are necessary to fill our days. 
 To those who have zest, even unpleasant experiences have their uses.
 In women, zest has been greatly diminished by a mistaken conception of respectability. For women as for men zest is the secret of happiness and well-being.
Affection
 One of the chief causes of lack of zest is the feeling that one is unloved, whereas conversely the feeling of being loved promotes zest more than anything else does. 
 It is affection received, not affection given, that causes this sense of security, though it arises most of all from affection which is reciprocal. 
 Affection received has a twofold function. We have spoken of it hitherto in connection with security, but in adult life it has an even more essential biological purpose, namely parenthood.
 The best type of affection is reciprocally life-giving; each receives affection with joy and gives it without effort, and each finds the whole world more interesting in consequence of the existence of this reciprocal happiness. 
 There is another kind of affection in which one sucks the vitality out of the other, such people use others as means to their own ends.
The Family
 Affection of parents for children and of children for parents is capable of being one of the greatest sources of happiness, but in fact at the present day the relations of parents and children are, in nine cases out of ten, a source of unhappiness to both parties.
 Two causes have combined to make women feel parenthood a burden far heavier than it was ever felt to be in former times. These two causes are, on the one hand, the opening of careers to single women; on the other hand, the decay of domestic service.
 A woman who does take the plunge finds herself, as compared with the women of former generations, confronted with a new and appalling problem, namely shortage and bad quality of domestic service.
 Too often through the mere performance of necessary duties such women become wearisome to their husbands and a nuisance to their children. When the evening comes and her husband returns from his work, the woman who talks about her day-time troubles is a bore, and the woman who does not is absent-minded. 
 Parents are no longer sure of their rights as against their children; children no longer feel that they owe respect to their parents. The virtue of obedience, which was formerly exacted without question, has become unfashionable.
 Parental affection is a special kind of feeling which the normal human being experiences towards his/her own children, but not towards any other human being.
 It is in times of misfortune that parents are most to be relied upon, in illness, and even in disgrace if the parents are of the right sort.
 The primitive root of the pleasure of parenthood is two-fold. On the one hand there is the feeling of part of one's own body externalized, prolonging its life beyond the death of the rest of one's body; on the other hand there is an intimate blend of power and tenderness. 
 If you feed an infant who is already capable of feeding himself, you are putting love of power before the child's welfare. In a thousand ways, great and small, the possessive impulse of parents will lead them astray, unless they are very watchful or very pure in heart.
 A woman who has acquired any kind of professional skill ought, both for her own sake and for that of the community, to be free to continue to exercise this skill in spite of motherhood.
Work
 Work, therefore, is desirable, first and foremost, as a preventive of boredom. Second, it gives chances of success and opportunities for ambition. 
 When work is interesting, it is capable of giving satisfaction of a far higher order than mere relief from tedium. Skill and construction make work interesting.
 A man who runs three-mile races will cease to find pleasure in this occupation when he passes the age at which he can beat his own previous record. 
 Nothing can rob a man of the happiness of successful achievement in an important piece of work.
Impersonal Interests
 One of the sources of unhappiness, fatigue, and nervous strain is inability to be interested in anything that is not of practical importance in one's own life. The result is excitability, lack of sagacity, irritability, and a loss of sense of proportion.
 Watching games, going to the theatre, playing golf and reading are activities that do not require will and quick decision.
 The world is full of things that are tragic or comic, heroic or bizarre or surprising, and those who fail to be interested in the spectacle that it offers are forgoing one of the privileges that life has to offer. 
 Even in the most fortunate lives there are times when things go wrong. At such times a capacity to become interested in something outside the cause of anxiety is an immense boon.
Effort and Resignation
 For all these reasons, happiness must be, for most men and women, an achievement rather than a gift of the gods, and in this achievement effort, both inward and outward, must play a great part.
 Effort is needed to work for a living. Marriage is a matter in regard to which effort may or may not be necessary. The amount of effort involved in the successful rearing of children is so evident that probably no one would deny it.
 Resignation has a part to play in the conquest of happiness. Many people get into fret or a fury over every little thing that goes wrong, and in this way waste a great deal of energy that might be more usefully employed. 
 Resignation is of two sorts, one rooted in despair, the other in unconquerable hope. The first is bad; the second is good. 
 Worry and fret and irritation are emotions which serve no purpose. 
The Happy Man
 Happiness, as is evident, depends partly upon external circumstances and partly upon oneself. 
 Where outward circumstances are not definitely unfortunate, a man should be able to achieve happiness, provided that his passions and interests are directed outward, not inward. 
 It should be our endeavour therefore, both in education and in attempts to adjust ourselves to the world, to aim at avoiding self-centered passions.
 The happy man is the man who lives objectively, who has free affections and wide interests