And What Would We Be, We Sinful

The Good Of A Book Lies In Its Being Read.

The Roseicrucians Were Everywhere, Aided By The Fact That They Didn't Exist.

We Have A Limit, A Very Discouraging, Humiliating Limit: Death. That's Why We Like All The Things That We Assume Have No Limits And, Therefore, No End. It's A Way Of Escaping Thoughts About Death. We Like Lists Because We Don't Want To Die.

For Mallarmé Naming An Object Meant Suppressing Three-quarters Of Its Poetic Pleasure (which Consists In The Joy Of Guessing Bit By Bit - "le Suggérer, Voilà Le Rêve!").

Naturally, Everything Depends On One's Background Books And On What One Is Looking For.