From my current read, The Philosopher’s Stone, by Colin Wilson:
On the boat I had a brief attack of dysentery; but even this turned out to be enlightening. I woke up in the night feelings sick, and lay awake, trying to fight it off. The smallness of the cabin, the warmth, the sound of the man in the next cabin tossing in his bunk – all these intensified the sickness. Then I heard the sound of steps outside my door – a sailor or officer on duty, since he was wearing shoes. A few minutes later, I heard low voices that sounded as if they were arguing. My door was opposite a flight of stairs; they stopped under the stairs and continued the argument. One of them kept saying: ‘Don’t raise your voice,’ and the other said: ‘I don’t see why not. It’s none of your bloody business anyway …’ I gathered that one of them had been in the cabin of a female passenger, and the other had caught him coming out. After a few minutes, they went upstairs, still arguing in low voices. Then I noticed that my interest in their quarrel had made the sickness subside. I had stopped thinking about myself – and the sickness had vanished … I recalled a line of Shaw’s: ‘Minding your own business is like minding your own body – it’s the quickest way to make yourself sick.’ Why should it be? Why should thinking about yourself increase the sickness, and thinking about something else diminish it?
(... LE scratching chin, petting beard …)
Thursday, November 18, 2010
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