Is Not Life In Itself A Thing

Every Reasonable Human Being Should Be A Moderate Socialist.

He Who Loves The More Is The Inferior And Must Suffer.

Often I Have Thought Of The Day When I Gazed For The First Time At The Sea. The Sea Is Vast, The Sea Is Wide, My Eyes Roved Far And Wide And Longed To Be Free. But There Was The Horizon. Why A Horizon, When I Wanted The Infinite From Life?

There Were Profound Reasons For His Attachment To The Sea: He Loved It Because As A Hardworking Artist He Needed Rest, Needed To Escape From The Demanding Complexity Of Phenomena And Lie Hidden On The Bosom Of The Simple And Tremendous; Because Of A Forbidden Longing Deep Within Him That Ran Quite Contrary To His Life's Task And Was For That Very Reason Seductive, A Longing For The Unarticulated And Immeasurable, For Eternity, For Nothingness. To Rest In The Arms Of Perfection Is The Desire Of Any Man Intent Upon Creating Excellence; And Is Not Nothingness A Form Of Perfection?

For The Myth Is The Foundation Of Life; It Is The Timeless Schema, The Pious Formula Into Which Life Flows When It Reproduces Its Traits Out Of The Unconscious.