I Know But One Freedom And That

What Sets Us Against One Another Is Not Our Aims - They All Come To The Same Thing - But Our Methods, Which Are The Fruit Of Our Varied Reasoning.

Life Always Bursts The Boundaries Of Formulas. Defeat May Prove To Have Been The Only Path To Resurrection, Despite Its Ugliness. I Take It For Granted That To Create A Tree I Condemn A Seed To Rot. If The First Act Of Resistance Comes Too Late It Is Doomed To Defeat. But It Is, Nevertheless, The Awakening Of Resistance. Life May Grow From It As From A Seed.

The One Thing That Matters Is The Effort. It Continues, Whereas The End To Be Attained Is But An Illusion Of The Climber, As He Fares On And On From Crest To Crest; And Once The Goal Is Reached It Has No Meaning.

Night, The Beloved. Night, When Words Fade And Things Come Alive. When The Destructive Analysis Of Day Is Done, And All That Is Truly Important Becomes Whole And Sound Again. When Man Reassembles His Fragmentary Self And Grows With The Calm Of A Tree.

No Destiny Attacks Us From Outside. But, Within Him, Man Bears His Fate And There Comes A Moment When He Knows Himself Vulnerable; And Then, As In A Vertigo, Blunder Upon Blunder Lures Him.