What We Call National-socialism Is

Isn't It Grand, Isn't It Good, That Language Has Only One Word For Everything We Associate With Love - From Utter Sanctity To The Most Fleshly Lust? The Result Is Perfect Clarity In Ambiguity, For Love Cannot Be Disembodied Even In Its Most Sanctified Forms, Nor Is It Without Sanctity Even At Its Most Fleshly. Love Is Always Simply Itself, Both As A Subtle Affirmation Of Life And As The Highest Passion; Love Is Our Sympathy With Organic Life.

What Pleases The Public Is Lively And Vivid Delineation Which Makes No Demands On The Intellect; But Passionate And Absolutist Youth Can Only Be Enthralled By A Problem.

Innate In Nearly Every Artistic Nature Is A Wanton, Treacherous Penchant For Accepting Injustice When It Creates Beauty And Showing Sympathy For And Paying Homage To Aristocratic Privilege.

If The Years Of Youth Are Experienced Slowly, While The Later Years Of Life Hurtle Past At An Ever-increasing Speed, It Must Be Habit That Causes It. We Know Full Well That The Insertion Of New Habits Or The Changing Of Old Ones Is The Only Way To Preserve Life, To Renew Our Sense Of Time, To Rejuvenate, Intensify, And Retard Our Experience Of Time - And Thereby Renew Our Sense Of Life Itself. That Is The Reason For Every Change Of Scenery And Air.

Often I Have Thought Of The Day When I Gazed For The First Time At The Sea. The Sea Is Vast, The Sea Is Wide, My Eyes Roved Far And Wide And Longed To Be Free. But There Was The Horizon. Why A Horizon, When I Wanted The Infinite From Life?