Nobody Is More Inferior Than Those Who

Once Upon A Time, In Some Out Of The Way Corner Of That Universe Which Is Dispersed Into Numberless Twinkling Solar Systems, There Was A Star Upon Which Clever Beasts Invented Knowing.

Instruments And Playthings Are Sense And Spirit: Behind Them There Is Still The Self. The Self Seeketh With The Eyes Of The Senses, It Hearkeneth Also With The Ears Of The Spirit.

Poets And Writers Who Are In Love With The Superlative All Want To Do More Than They Can.

Everyone Carries Within Himself An Image Of Womanliness Derived From His Mother: It Is This That Determines Whether, On The Whole,he Will Revere Women, Or Despise Them, Or Remain Generally Indifferent To Them.

Men Are Even Lazier Than They Are Timorous, And What They Fear Most Is The Troubles With Which Any Unconditional Honesty And Nudity Would Burden Them.