Dotting the “i.”

Some say that Man's success in the grate scheme is merely the echo of his ego, or that he has talked himself into a situation that he can't talk himself out of. True it is that early in his careering he spoke only when he wanted to say something; but now he often finds it necessary to keep on speaking to hide the fact that he has nothing to say. This sort of success is excess, undue inflation of the ego, or over-capitalisation of the “I.” A genuine capital “I” needs no dotting. Success, generously speaking, is an enviable condition always enjoyed by someone else. The only genuinely successful successes are those who know that they're not. Success is like silver in that as soon as it's uttered it's outed. After all, Success, like poor relations and rich uncles, is only relative; as soon as a success knows that he is a success he is not what he knows he is; but many a failure has failed with more success than the successes who have suceeded. Most successes say very little about themselves for fear of giving themselves away, and thus caution is often mistaken for modesty. But let's palpitate profundity.

We are but little children frail,
Subservient to cash or “kale,”
And dropping pennies in the slot,
For something that we haven't got.
We are but animated nuts, Propelled in regulated ruts,
Pursuing rainbows with a spade,
To disinter the gold they've laid.
We are but adumbrated “ads,”
Proclaiming filimentous fads,
And trying vainly to express,
The meaning of the word “success.”

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We are but simple souls who dote,
In laying odds against the “tote,”
And backing Quidlet even if
We know the cheat is running “stiff,”
Forgetting while the guessers guess,
To put our shirts on Happiness.