If this is sound, the pleasantness of pleasure can no longer be our guide; the higherness of the higher pleasure must have the decisive word — hedonism has committed suicide.

The music seems to have no particular sense of beginning or end: it doesn't drive toward a cadence; it simply elaborates the big waves with little waves, underpulses, in the way that the surge of surf on a beach falls into long rhythms of tide and medium rhythms of regular wave fall and short rhythms of little splashes at the end of the regular wave fall.

One might wonder who thought such a shirt would be a big seller, and why, which is exactly what the twitterstorm of complaints against the seller was asking.

I doubt that the organisation is going to be terribly concerned that you arrive at that call thirty seconds later than you would have done otherwise but can be pretty sure that they would have something to say had you smashed up your police car on the way there. I doubt also that CPS would be satisfied with the defence of '...It was my first night duty … and I was rather tired...' after your high profile POLAC gets splashed all over the national newspapers and television news.