There Are Other Relations Besides Reality, Which

I Must Confess That I And A Few Others Are Burdened With Heavy Responsibilities Regarding The Future Of Criticism. I Am Certainly, If Not The Inventor, Then At Least One Of The First Systematizers Of An Absurd Critical Practice That, As Soon As It Had Peeked Its Beak Out Of The Nest, Flapping Its New Wet Wings, Took Flight In The Minds Of The Young, Becoming A Wild Ox And Sowing Avant-garde Literature With The Mighty Tomes Of What Might As Well Be Called The Abstract Bear.

There Are Strange Flowers Of Reason To Match Each Error Of The Senses.

Everything That Is Not Me Is Incomprehensible.

Most People Have Never Known Solitude.... But There Are A Few Of The Other Kind Who Can Go Back To Their Rooms Anywhere And Close The Door On The Whole World, And Feel That They Need Never Emerge.

Fear Of Error Which Everything Recalls To Me At Every Moment Of The Flight Of My Ideas, This Mania For Control, Makes Men Prefer Reason's Imagination To The Imagination Of The Senses. And Yet It Is Always The Imagination Alone Which Is At Work.