Man, A Hybrid Of Plant And Ghost.

In The Beautiful, Man Sets Himself Up As The Standard Of Perfection; In Select Cases He Worships Himself In It. Man Believes That The World Itself Is Filled With Beauty -he Forgets That It Is He Who Has Created It. He Alone Has Bestowed Beauty Upon The World -alas! Only A Very Human, An All Too Human, Beauty.

How Do You Expect To Learn To Dance When You Have Not Even Learned To Walk! And Above The Dancer Is Still The Flyer And His Bliss.

All Credibility, All Good Conscience, All Evidence Of Truth Come Only From The Senses.

It Is The Music In Our Conscience, The Dance In Our Spirit, To Which Puritan Litanies, Moral Sermons, And Goody Goodness Won’t Chime.

The Suffering Of Genius And Its Value. The Artistic Genius Desires To Give Pleasure, But If His Mind Is On A Very High Plane He Does Not Easily Find Anyone To Share His Pleasure; He Offers Entertainment But Nobody Accepts It. That Gives Him, In Certain Circumstances, A Comically Touching Pathos; For He Has No Right To Force Pleasure On Men. He Pipes, But None Will Dance: Can That Be Tragic?