Free Will Without Fate Is No More

Women Want To Serve, And This Is Where Their Happiness Lies: But The Free Spirit Does Not Want To Be Served, And This Is Where Hishappiness Lies.

Out Of Damp And Gloomy Days, Out Of Solitude, Out Of Loveless Words Directed At Us, Conclusions Grow Up In Us Like Fungus: One Morning They Are There, We Know Not How, And They Gaze Upon Us, Morose And Gray. Woe To The Thinker Who Is Not The Gardener But Only The Soil Of The Plants That Grow In Him.

That Which An Age Considers Evil Is Usually An Unseasonable Echo Of What Was Formerly Considered Good - The Atavism Of An Old Ideal.

Books And Drafts Mean Something Quite Different For Different Thinkers. One Collects In A Book The Lights He Was Able To Steal And Carry Home Swiftly Out Of The Rays Of Some Insight That Suddenly Dawned On Him, While Another Thinker Offers Us Nothing But Shadows - Images In Black And Grey Of What Had Built Up In His Soul The Day Before.

Great Men's Errors Are To Be Venerated As More Fruitful Than Little Men's Truths.