The Ultimate, Most Holy Form Of Theory

Within This Arena, Which Grows More Stable Night After Day, Generations Work And Love And Hope And Vanish. New Generations Tread On The Corpses Of Their Fathers, Continue The Work Above The Abyss And Struggle To Tame The Dread Mystery. How? By Cultivating A Single Field, By Kissing A Woman, By Studying A Stone, An Animal, An Idea.

Happy Is The Man, I Thought, Who, Before Dying, Has The Good Fortune To Sail The Aegean Sea.

The Truth Is That We All Are One, That All Of Us Together Create God, That God Is Not Man's Ancestor, But His Descendant.

The Highest Point A Man Can Attain Is Not Knowledge, Or Virtue, Or Goodness, Or Victory, But Something Even Greater, More Heroic And More Despairing: Sacred Awe!

There Is Only One Woman In The World. One Woman, With Many Faces.