The Coward Does Not Know What It

All Truths Are Bloody Truths To Me.

Man Is At His Furthest Remove From The Animal As A Child, His Intellect Most Human. With His Fifteenth Year And Puberty He Comes Astep Closer To The Animal; With The Sense Of Possessions Of His Thirties (the Median Line Between Laziness And Greediness), Still Another Step. In His Sixtieth Year Of Life He Frequently Loses His Modesty As Well, Then The Septuagenarian Steps Up To Us As A Completely Unmasked Beast: One Need Only Look At The Eyes And The Teeth.

The Happiness Of Man Is: I Will. The Happiness Of Woman Is: He Wills. 'behold , Just Now The World ... Entire Love. And Woman Must Obey And Find A Depth For Her Surface. Surface Is The Disposition Of Woman: A Mobile, Stormy Film Over Shallow Water. Man's Disposition, However, Is Deep; His River Roars In Subterranean Caves: Woman Feels His Strength But Does Not Comprehend It.

The Love Of Indulgence Is Rooted In The Depths Of A Man's Heart. His Soul Would Prefer To Share The Excessive And Unrestrained; But His Soul Cannot Love.

Animals Know Nothing Of Themselves, And They Also Know Nothing Of The World.