Discretion Is Deadly To Genius; Ruinous To

Let Us Not Be Needlessly Bitter: Certain Failures Are Sometimes Fruitful.

What Would Be Left Of Our Tragedies If An Insect Were To Present Us His?

What Does The Future, That Half Of Time, Matter To The Man Who Is Infatuated With Eternity?

The Truly Solitary Being Is Not The Man Who Is Abandoned By Men, But The Man Who Suffers In Their Midst, Who Drags His Desert Through The Marketplace And Deploys His Talents As A Smiling Leper, A Mountebank Of The Irreparable.

Ideas Come As You Walk, Nietzsche Said. Walking Dissipates Thoughts, Shankara Taught.