The object of our sojourns on earth, as apart from the gaining of experience, is but one. The loosing of ourselves from the coil of reincarnation, which, over and over again, brings us back to earth as on a coiled spring, until, having learned the last lesson of matter, leaped the last barrier, we are freed for ever from earth.
Apparently Brooklyn needn't always push itself to be something else, something conscious and anxious, something pointed toward Manhattan. . . . Brooklyn might sometimes also be pleased, as here on Flatbush, to be its grubby, enduring self.