Life Means To Have Something Definite To

Thought Is Not A Gift To Man But A Laborious, Precarious And Volatile Acquisition.

There Are, Above All, Times In Which The Human Reality, Always Mobile, Accelerates, And Bursts Into Vertiginous Speeds. Our Time Is Such A One, For It Is Made Of Descent And Fall.

Life Is A Terrible Conflict, A Grandiose And Atrocious Confluence. Hunting Submerges Man Deliberately In That Formidable Mystery And Therefore Contains Something Of Religious Rite And Emotion In Which Homage Is Paid To What Is Divine, Transcendent, And In The Laws Of Nature.

In This Initial Illimitableness Of Possibilities That Characterizes One Who Has No Nature There Stands Out Only One Fixed, Pre-established, And Given Line By Which He May Chart His Course, Only One Limit: The Past.

Today Violence Is The Rhetoric Of The Period.