All Our Knowledge Is Symbolic.

Neither A Work Of Nature Nor One Of Art We Get To Know When They Have Been Finished; We Must Surprise Them In The Process Of Beingcreated So As To Understand Them To Some Degree.

This Is The True Measure Of Love, When We Believe That We Alone Can Love, That No One Could Ever Have Loved So Before Us, And That No One Will Ever Love In The Same Way After Us.

What Then Is Your Duty? What The Day Demands.

Would You Require A Wretched Being, Whose Life Is Slowly Wasting Under A Lingering Disease, To Despatch Himself At Once By The Stroke Of A Dagger? Does Not The Very Disorder Which Consumes His Strength Deprive Him Of The Courage To Effect His Deliverance?

Of The Truly Creative No One Is Ever Master; It Must Be Left To Go Its Own Way.