The Mind Is The Eyesight Of The

Accursed Be He Who Plays With The Devil.

There Is No Solitude In Nature.

O God, How Lovely Still Is Life!

Heaven And Earth Fight In Vain Against A Dunce!

The Reason For You Complaint Lies, It Seems To Me, In The Constraint Which Your Intellect Imposes Upon Your Imagination. Here I Will Make An Observation, And Illustrate It By An Allegory. Apparently, It Is Not Good-and Indeed It Hinders The Creative Work Of The Mind-if The If The Intellect Examines Too Closely The Ideas Pouring In, As It Were, At The Gates.