A vector v=(22,38,52,12) defines a four-dimensional space with a point at the stated co-ordinates, and so on to any dimensionality n. Vector spaces of dimensionality greater than three are impossible to visualise directly […]
Some 100,000 railwaymen have been released to join the fighting forces, 90,000 are training as Home Guards in addition to their railway work, 170,000 members of the railway staffs have been fully trained in A.R.P. duties, and 100,000 railwaywomen are now employed.
On Thursday the police in Miami Beach arrested the man, Weston J. Hill, 44 years old, charging him with indecent exposure. . . . He had been charged with exposing himself to children.
This is true: an object may be framed apart by the fascination of aversion or horror: but the rêverie which is the condition of such concentration differs from that which is the condition of aesthetic concentration in this all-important respect that it is a painful rêverie, out of which we are rudely waked once for all by the pain of it; whereas the rêverie which is the condition of aesthetic concentration is a pleasant state of psychic repose which tends to prolong itself, not, however, continuously, but intermittently, in such a way that we are always waking out of it gently, and then falling back into it again.[…]But, as we read, suddenly the waking image is superseded by its own rêverie image: we still see her ‘o’er the sickle bending’, but no longer in this world: we see her as one translated into another world (this is the experience which we ‘remember’ when we wake again from our momentary rêverie), we see her translated into a world of ‘emblems’: and we still hear ‘singing by herself’—but through her prevailing song, we hear the nightingale from his ‘shady haunt’, and the voice of ‘the cuckoo-bird breaking the silence of the seas among the farthest Hebrides’; while the mystery of it all—‘will no one tell me what she sings?’—fills us with amazement, so that we are lost in gazing and listening; and the rhythm, too, of the poet’s words has, all the time, been lulling us into rêverie—for it is, after all, by means of words that the poet makes us see the reaper and hear her song—the rhythm of his words, passing, in some subtle way, into the images which the words raise up, predisposes them to suffer the poetic change when the ‘psychological moment’ comes: suddenly, as we read, the complex of waking mental images is transfigured into a complex of rêverie images.[…]But the sensible object’s own beauty, its beautiful individuality, we have seen, is its rêverie-image rising up, for a moment, again and again, now becoming conflated with our perception of that object as actually presented and then again distinguished from it.
