After years of being certain that every word Ayn Rand wrote was unequivocally right, I woke up one morning and realized I had been living through something called REAL LIFE. Unfortunately, here on planet Earth there are no Dagny Taggarts, Howard Roarks, or Henry Reardens. (The closest we ever came was Gary Cooper.)

Rand seemingly felt it was necessary to mold the world in her own image in order to be content. A bad idea, in my view. How would you like YOUR happiness to depend upon your ability to mold the world in YOUR image? Talk about a tough occupation, try going into that business sometime. It’s what’s known as “masochistic intolerance.”

As much as I admired Ayn Rand as an intellectual, I believe this is why she apparently died a lonely, unhappy woman. But make no mistake about it, her intellectual contributions to mankind were immense, and you and I have the advantage of standing on her shoulders.