Sense (for A Particular Art, Science, Human

There Is No Self-knowledge But An Historical One. No One Knows What He Himself Is Who Does Not Know His Fellow Men, Especially The Most Prominent One Of The Community, The Master's Master, The Genius Of The Age.

Religion Can Emerge In All Forms Of Feeling: Here Wild Anger, There The Sweetest Pain; Here Consuming Hatred, There The Childlike Smile Of Serene Humility.

Nothing Is More Piquant Than When A Man Of Genius Possesses Mannerisms; Not So When They Possess Him -- This Leads To Spiritual Petrification.

In England, Wit Is At Least A Profession, If Not An Art. Everything Becomes Professional There, And Even The Rogues Of That Islandare Pedants. So Are The "wits" There Too. They Introduce Into Reality Absolute Freedom Whose Reflection Lends A Romantic And Piquant Air To Wit, And Thus They Live Wittily; Hence Their Talent For Madness. They Die For Their Principles.

If The Mystical Lovers Of The Arts, Who Consider All Criticism Dissection And All Dissection Destruction Of Enjoyment, Thought Logically, An Exclamation Like "goodness Alive!" Would Be The Best Criticism Of The Most Deserving Work Of Art. There Are Critiques Which Say Nothing But That, Only They Do So More Extensively.