The Earth Has A Skin And That

We Believe That We Know Something About The Things Themselves When We Speak Of Trees, Colors, Snow, And Flowers; And Yet We Possess Nothing But Metaphors For Things - Metaphors Which Correspond In No Way To The Original Entities.

There Exists Above The "productive" Man A Yet Higher Species.

All Human Life Is Sunk Deep In Untruth; The Individual Cannot Pull It Out Of This Well Without Growing Profoundly Annoyed With His Entire Past, Without Finding His Present Motives (like Honor) Senseless, And Without Opposing Scorn And Disdain To The Passions That Urge One On To The Future And To The Happiness In It.

Perhaps I Know Best Why It Is Man Alone Who Laughs; He Alone Suffers So Deeply That He Had To Invent Laughter.

Little Prigs And Three-quarter Madmen May Have The Conceit That The Laws Of Nature Are Constantly Broken For Their Sakes.