[heraclitus Had] A Regal Air Of Certainty.

Every Great Love Brings With It The Cruel Idea Of Killing The Object Of Its Love So That It May Be Removed Once And For All From The Wicked Game Of Change: For Love Dreads Change Even More Than Annihilation.

Everything Which Distinguishes Man From The Animals Depends Upon This Ability To Volatilize Perceptual Metaphors In A Schema, And Thus To Dissolve An Image Into A Concept.

It Is The Good War That Hallows Every Cause.

The Consequence Is That Every Man Comes To Know Himself Solely In Terms Of His Power For Defence And Attack.

Could Truth Perhaps Be A Woman Who Has Reasons For Not Permitting Her Reasons To Be Seen? Could Her Name Perhaps Be--to Speak Greek--baubo?... Oh, Those Greeks! They Understood How To Live: To Do That It Is Necessary To Stop Bravely At The Surface, The Fold, The Skin, To Adore The Appearance, To Believe In Forms, In Tones, In Words, In The Whole Olympus Of Appearance! Those Greeks Were Superficial--out Of Profundity!