The Living Are Just The Dead On

At Every Crossroad On The Way That Leads To The Future, Each Progressive Spirit Is Opposed By A Thousand Men Appointed To Guard The Past.

Wisdom Requires No Form; Her Beauty Must Vary, As Varies The Beauty Of Flame. She Is No Motionless Goddess, For Ever Couched On Her Throne.

As Soon As We Put Something Into Words, We Devalue It In A Strange Way. We Think We Have Plunged Into The Depths Of The Abyss, And When We Return To The Surface The Drop Of Water On Our Pale Fingertips No Longer Resembles The Sea From Which It Comes. We Delude Ourselves That We Have Discovered A Wonderful Treasure Trove, And When We Return To The Light Of Day We Find That We Have Brought Back Only False Stones And Shards Of Glass; And Yet The Treasure Goes On Glimmering In The Dark, Unaltered.

The Future Is A World Limited By Ourselves; In It We Discover Only What Concerns Us And, Sometimes, By Chance, What Interests Those Whom We Love The Most.

I Am Moved By The Light.