Time Cools, Time Clarifies; No

There Were Profound Reasons For His Attachment To The Sea: He Loved It Because As A Hardworking Artist He Needed Rest, Needed To Escape From The Demanding Complexity Of Phenomena And Lie Hidden On The Bosom Of The Simple And Tremendous; Because Of A Forbidden Longing Deep Within Him That Ran Quite Contrary To His Life's Task And Was For That Very Reason Seductive, A Longing For The Unarticulated And Immeasurable, For Eternity, For Nothingness. To Rest In The Arms Of Perfection Is The Desire Of Any Man Intent Upon Creating Excellence; And Is Not Nothingness A Form Of Perfection?

A Lonely, Quiet Person Has Observations And Experiences That Are At Once Both More Indistinct And More Penetrating Than Those Of One More Gregarious; His Thoughts Are Weightier, Stranger, And Never Without A Tinge Of Sadness. . . . Loneliness Fosters That Which Is Original, Daringly And Bewilderingly Beautiful, Poetic. But Loneliness Also Fosters That Which Is Perverse, Incongruous, Absurd, Forbidden.

It Is Remarkable How A Man Cannot Summarize His Thoughts In Even The Most General Sort Of Way Without Betraying Himself Completely, Without Putting His Whole Self Into It, Quite Unawares, Presenting As If In Allegory The Basic Themes And Problems Of His Life.

No Man Remains Quite What He Was When He Recognizes Himself.

For To Be Poised Against Fatality, To Meet Adverse Conditions Gracefully, Is More Than Simple Endurance; It Is An Act Of Aggression, A Positive Triumph.