The Death of the Moth and Other Essays (The Original Unabridged 1942 Edition of 28 Essays)

The eye is not a miner, not a diver, not a seeker after buried treasure. It floats us smoothly down a stream; resting, pausing, the brain sleeps perhaps as it looks.

But how are you going to get out, into the world of other people? That is your problem now, if I may hazard a guess—to find the right relationship, now that you know yourself, between the self that you know and the world outside.

But what was it? Ah, we remember, it was a pencil. Let us go then and buy this pencil.