Blessed Are The Sleepy Ones: For They

Rendering Oneself Unarmed When One Had Been The Best-armed, Out Of A Height Of Feeling-that Is The Means To Real Peace, Which Must Always Rest On A Peace Of Mind.

However Much We May Feel For The Misery Of Someone Close To Us, We Always Act With Some Artificiality In Their Presence. We Hold-back From Telling Them Everything We Think, Often Because We Do Not Genuinely Mean What We Say; Or Because We Take A Pleasure In Their Plight, Thankful That We Are Not Affected.

Ultimately, No One Can Extract From Things, Books Included, More Than He Already Knows.

War Has Always Been The Grand Sagacity Of Every Spirit Which Has Grown Too Inward And Too Profound; Its Curative Power Lies Even In The Wounds One Receives.

What Is Done Out Of Love Always Occurs Beyond Good And Evil.