select his pages with discrimination.
These confessions and warnings are printed in this conspicuous
manner so that the uncertain seeker after "something to read" may
see at a glance the poor sort of entertainment offered herein, and
replace the book upon the shelf without buying.
CHAPTER ONE SOME PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS
THE MADDING CROWD
Any woman can drive an electric automobile, any man can drive a
steam, but neither man nor woman can drive a gasoline; it follows
its own odorous will, and goes or goes not as it feels disposed.
For this very wilfulness the gasoline motor is the most
fascinating machine of all. It possesses the subtle attraction of
caprice; it constantly offers something to overcome; as in golf,
you start out each time to beat your own record. The machine is
your tricky and resourceful opponent. When you think it conquered
and well-broken to harness, submissive and resigned to your will,
behold it is as obstinate as a mule,--balks, kicks, snorts, puffs,
blows, or, what is worse, refuses to kick, snort, puff, and blow,
but stands in stubborn silence, an obdurate beast which no amount
of coaxing, cajoling, cranking will start.
One of the beauties of the beast is its strict impartiality. It
shows no more deference to maker than to owner; it moves no more
quickly for expert mechanic than for amateur driver. When it
balks, it balks,--inventor, manufacturer, mechanic, stand puzzled;
suddenly it starts,--they are equally puzzled.
Who has not seen inventors of these capricious motors standing by
the roadside scratching their heads in despair, utterly at a loss
to know why the stubborn thing does not go? Who has not seen
skilled mechanics in blue jeans and unskilled amateurs in jeans of
leather, so to speak, flat on their backs under the vehicle,
peering upward into the intricacies of the mechanism, trying to
find the cause,--the obscure, the hidden source of all their
trouble? And then the probing with wires, the tugs with wrenches,
the wrestling with screw-drivers, the many trials,--for the most
part futile,--the subdued language of the bunkers, and at length,
when least expected, a start, and the machine goes off as if
nothing at all had been the matter. It is then the skilled driver
looks wise and does not betray his surprise to the gaping crowd,
just looks as if the start were the anticipated result of his
well-directed efforts instead of a chance hit amidst blind
Here's a piece of wisdom on driving or cute car quote to study:
The car has become the carapace, the protective and aggressive shell, of urban and suburban man. ~Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media
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