By Bertrand Russell
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Within the blink of an eye fixed, mother ran up in the back of me and driven me into the fence. Instinctively, I reached out my hands to prevent my fall and ended up grabbing the stay fence. My fingers clamped round the skinny wires, and my physique collapsed to the floor because the electrical energy coursed via it. I opened my eyes and observed my mom status over me with the strangest smile on her face.
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Woke to sleep At last they susI was lying in my was pretending, and one day, as bed, they poked me about. " No one ever discovered why I had pretended to be asleep. I remember an occasion at lunch when all I dismay changed and everybody except me was given an was not allowed an orange as there was an unalterable orange. I conviction that fruit is bad for children. I knew I must not ask the plates were would be impertinent, but as I had been given a did venture to say, "A plate and nothing on it" Every- for one as that plate I body laughed, but I did not get an orange.
I threw snowballs at him when he was driving, thereby endangering the valuable lives of him and his employer. I had another amusement which I much enjoyed. On a Sunday, when the Park was crowded, I would climb to the very top of a large beech tree on the edge of our grounds. There I would hang upside down and scream and watch the discussing how When I saw them a rescue should be effected.  crowd gravely The Autobiography of Bertrand Russell Hearing a decision I would get the right way up and quietly come down.
While I was sixteen and seventeen, I read, as far as I can remember, the whole of Milton's poetry, most of Byron, a great deal of Shakespeare, came upon Shelley by accident. One day I was waiting for my Aunt Maude in her sitting-room at Dover Street. I opened it at Alastor, large parts of Tennyson, and finally Shelley. I which seemed Its unreality to me the most beautiful it. I had ever read. my admiration about half-way through when my aunt arrived, had got and I had to put the volume back in the for poem was, of course, the great element in I asked the grownups whether Shelley was not considered a great poet, but found that they thought ill of him.