Nature Is A Petrified Magic

In Cheerful Souls There Is No Wit. Wit Shows A Disturbance Of The Equipoise.

Man Is A Sun And His Senses Are The Planets.

I Was Still Blind, But Twinkling Stars Did Dance Throughout My Being's Limitless Expanse, Nothing Had Yet Drawn Close, Only At Distant Stages I Found Myself, A Mere Suggestion Sensed In Past And Future Ages.

One Can Not Understand Language Because Language Cannot Understand Itself; Does Not Want To Understand

The Ideal Of Morality Has No More Dangerous Rival Than The Ideal Of Highest Strength, Of Most Powerful Life. It Is The Maximum Of The Savage.