The Subject Of History Is The Gradual

True Love Should Be, According To Its Origin, Entirely Arbitrary And Entirely Accidental At The Same Time; It Should Seem Both Necessary And Free; In Keeping With Its Nature, However, It Should Be Both Destiny And Virtue And Appear As A Mystery And A Miracle.

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.

There Are Ancient And Modern Poems Which Breathe, In Their Entirety And In Every Detail, The Divine Breath Of Irony. In Such Poemsthere Lives A Real Transcendental Buffoonery. Their Interior Is Permeated By The Mood Which Surveys Everything And Rises Infinitely Above Everything Limited, Even Above The Poet's Own Art, Virtue, And Genius; And Their Exterior Form By The Histrionic Style Of An Ordinary Good Italian Buffo.

Where There Is Politics Or Economics, There Is No Morality.

It Is Individuality Which Is The Original And Eternal Within Man; Personality Doesn't Matter So Much. To Pursue The Education And Development Of This Individuality As One's Highest Vocation Would Be A Divine Egoism.