Many a man has cherished for years as his hobby some vague shadow of an idea, too meaningless to be positively false; he has, nevertheless, passionately loved it, has made it his companion by day and by night, and has given to it his strength and his life, leaving all other occupations for its sake, and in short has lived with it and for it, until it has become, as it were, flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone; and then he has waked up some bright morning to find it gone, clean vanished away like the beautiful Melusina of the fable, and the essence of his life gone with it. I have myself known such a man; and who can tell how many histories of circle-squarers, metaphysicians, astrologers, and what not, may not be told in the old German story?
But that part about “the essence of his life gone with it” is an exaggeration—or at least, only a temporary loss. There are plenty of vague shadows of ideas out there to be loved and cherished.
Charles Sanders Peirce
Ouch.
But that part about “the essence of his life gone with it” is an exaggeration—or at least, only a temporary loss. There are plenty of vague shadows of ideas out there to be loved and cherished.