My Drawing Was Not A Picture Of

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.

We Must Not Subject Him Who Creates To The Desires Of The Multitude. It Is, Rather, His Creation That Must Become The Multitude's Desire.

One Is A Member Of A Country, A Profession, A Civilization, A Religion. One Is Not Just A Man.

To Be A Man Is To Feel That One's Own Stone Contributes To Building The Edifice Of The World.

Of Course, I Love You,' The Flower Said To Him. 'if You Were Not Aware Of It, It Was My Fault.