The habit of constant movement is destroying some things which had considerable value. The practice of reading for pleasure is dying out, especially as regards books that are not quite new. Knowledge of the seasons, and the intimate love of places in their detail that comes of remaining immovable throughout the year, are now almost confined to agricultural labourers. This has caused the poetry of the past, and the ways of feeling from which it sprang, to go dead.
Source:'On locomotion' in: Mortals and Others; Bertrand Russell's American Essays, 1931-1935, v.1.
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