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Conger Reynolds correspondence, May 1918
1918-05-06 Daphne Reynolds to Conger Reynolds Page 5
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was talking in his sleep. I wish I could answer him. What awful things words are! Years and years before anything was, I mean anything we know or understand, then the things that really counted, the things that finally made the Universe, had some means of communication, perhaps thru sensations. (No, I'm not crazy, sure enough.) I wish I knew what I'm trying to say. Isn't there yet another sense of which most of us are not yet conscious, but it exists, just the same? I think if there is, that it will never be developed because we are moving the wrong way too fast. We don't stop to feel. We spend too much time figuring. Oh I hate it all! I wish I could live miles away in a Jungle, where everything is wild and even the plants fight for their very existence.
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was talking in his sleep. I wish I could answer him. What awful things words are! Years and years before anything was, I mean anything we know or understand, then the things that really counted, the things that finally made the Universe, had some means of communication, perhaps thru sensations. (No, I'm not crazy, sure enough.) I wish I knew what I'm trying to say. Isn't there yet another sense of which most of us are not yet conscious, but it exists, just the same? I think if there is, that it will never be developed because we are moving the wrong way too fast. We don't stop to feel. We spend too much time figuring. Oh I hate it all! I wish I could live miles away in a Jungle, where everything is wild and even the plants fight for their very existence.
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