An Old Man Who Cannot

It Is Proverbial, Of Course, That Man Never Learns From History, And, As A Rule, In Respect To A Problem Of The Present, It Can Teach Us Simply Nothing. The New Must Be Made Through Untrodden Regions, Without Suppositions, And Often, Unfortunately, Without Piety Also.

I Am No Longer Alone With Myself, And I Can Only Artificially Recall The Scary And Beautiful Feeling Of Solitude. This Is The Shadow Side Of The Fortune Of Love.

The Years... When I Pursued The Inner Images Were The Most Important Time Of My Life. Everything Else Is To Be Derived From This. It Began At That Time, And The Later Details Hardly Matter Anymore. My Entire Life Consisted In Elaborating What Had Burst Forth From The Unconscious And Flooded Me Like An Enigmatic Stream And Threatened To Break Me. That Was The Stuff And Material For More Than Only One Life. Everything Later Was Merely The Outer Classification, The Scientific Elaboration, And The Integration Into Life. But The Numinous Beginning, Which Contained Everything Was Then.

The Dream Is A Series Of Images, Which Are Apparently Contradictory And Nonsensical, But Arise In Reality From Psychologic Material Which Yields A Clear Meaning.

One Might Expect, Perhaps, That A Man Full Of Genius Could Pasture In The Greatness Of His Own Thoughts, And Renounce The Cheap Approbation Of The Crowd Which He Despises; Yet He Succumbs To The More Powerful Impulse Of The Herd Instinct. His Searching And His Finding, His Call, Belong To The Herd.