I cannot live without brainwork. What else is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts across the duncoloured houses. What could be more hopelessly prosaic and material?

Author   Arthur Conan DoyleTopics   Intellect, Purpose, Boredom, Depression, Urban Life Copy Share on Share on Facebook Share on Pinterest Share on Twitter

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