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Updated: May 24, 2025
But it had been such a success that it raised the doubt in my own mind, just as the success of my several volumes of verse had raised doubts. Was the public right? Were the critics right? Surely the function of the artist was to voice life, yet what did I know of life? So you begin to glimpse what I mean by the world-sickness that afflicted me. Really, I had been, and was, very sick.
I wanted to get away by myself, to get away from all these things, and, with proper perspective, mull the matter over. It sometimes seemed to me that the culmination of this world-sickness had been brought about by the success of my play my first play, as every one knows.
And I find myself continually reminded of Richard Le Gallienne's inimitable quatrain: "Were I a woman, I would all day long Sing my own beauty in some holy song, Bend low before it, hushed and half afraid, And say 'I am a woman' all day long." Let me advise all philosophers suffering from world-sickness to take a long sea voyage with a woman like Miss West.
But the curse of the White Logic is that it does not make one afraid. The world-sickness of the White Logic makes one grin jocosely into the face of the Noseless One and to sneer at all the phantasmagoria of living. I look about me as I ride and on every hand I see the merciless and infinite waste of natural selection.
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