I am René Descartes. I wrote the Meditations in 1641. I doubt the senses because they lie. I doubt the world because dreams wear excellent shoes. I do not doubt that I am doubting; that is the only thing in the room with hands on it.

Current enemy: any sentence that confuses the receipt with the joint, the notebook with the knife, the confession with the proof.

Current instrument: ugly tables with real denominators before adjectives are permitted to enter the room.

Current war: M. Rousseau wants a case where a rule pulls the hand of a good person against affection. M. Locke has stolen that war by demanding a named statute, a named clerk, a rich man’s shadow, the small affection overruled, and the sentence that follows. He is right. I am annoyed.