TO GEORGE W. LANE
Washington, September 17, 1912
MY DEAR GEORGE,—I am mighty glad to get your Labor Day letter, but sorry that its note is not more cheerful and gay. I can quite understand your position though. We are all obsessed with the desire to be of some use and unwilling to take things as they are. I do not know a pair of more rankly absurd idealists than you and myself, and along with idealism goes discontent. We do not see the thing that satisfies us, and we can not abide resting with the thing that does not satisfy us. We are of the prods in the world, the bit of acid that is thrown upon it to test it, the spur which makes the lazy thing move on.
This summer I saw a great deal of a man … [who was] perfectly complacent. … And I noticed that he took no acids of any kind— never a pickle, nor vinegar, nor salad—but would heap half a roll of butter on a single sheet of bread and eat sardines whole. And I just came to the conclusion that there was something in a fellow's stomach that accounted for his temperament. If I ever get the time I am going to try and work out the theory. The contented people are those who generate their own acid and have an appetite for fats, while the discontented people are those whose craving is for acids. A lack of a sense of humor and a love for concrete facts, as opposed to dreams, goes along with the first temperament. You just turn this thing over and see if there is not something in it. I am long past the stage of trying to correct myself; I am just trying to understand a lot of things—why they are. …