Play exists for its own sake. Play is for the moment; it is not hurried, even when the pace is fast and timing seems important. When we play, we also celebrate holy uselessness. Like the calf frolicking in the meadow, we need no pretense or excuses. Work is productive; play, in its disinterestedness and self-forgetting, can be fruitful.
The perfect disinterestedness and self-devotion of which men seem incapable, but which is sometimes found in women.
Self-interest speaks all manner of tongues and plays all manner of parts, even that of disinterestedness.
How difficult it is to get men to believe that any other man can or does act from disinterestedness!