Everything Good Is Instinct--and, As

The Tree That Would Grow To Heaven Must Send Its Roots To Hell.

At Present I Am Light, Now I Fly, Now I See Myself Below Me, Now A God Dances Through Me.

And So While Dreams Are The Individual Man's Play With Reality, The Sculptor's Art Is (in A Broader Sense) The Play With Dreams.

If One Considers How Much Reason Every Person Has For Anxiety And Timid Self-concealment, And How Three-quarters Of His Energy And Goodwill Can Be Paralyzed And Made Unfruitful By It, One Has To Be Very Grateful To Fashion

We Ought To Fear A Man Who Hates Himself, For We Are At Risk Of Becoming Victims Of His Anger And Revenge. Let Us Then Try To Lure Him Into Self-love.