There Is No Doubt; Even A Rejection

Every Life Is, More Or Less, A Ruin Among Whose Debris We Have To Discover What The Person Ought To Have Been.

Man Adapts Himself To Everything, To The Best And The Worst.

In Their Choice Of Lovers Both The Male And The Female Reveal Their Essential Nature. The Type Of Human Being We Prefer Reveals The Contours Of Our Heart. Love Is An Impulse Which Springs From The Most Profound Depths Of Our Beings, And Upon Reaching The Visible Surface Of Life Carries With It An Alluvium Of Shells And Seaweed From The Inner Abyss. A Skilled Naturalist, By Filing These Materials, Can Reconstruct The Oceanic Depths From Which They Have Been Uprooted.

Rancor Is An Outpouring Of A Feeling Of Inferiority.

Life, Individual Or Collective, Personal Or Historic, Is The One Entity In The Universe Whose Substance Is Compact Of Danger, Of Adventure. It Is, In The Strict Sense Of The Word, Drama. The Primary, Radical Meaning Of Life Appears When It Is Employed In The Sense Not Of Biology, But Of Biography. For The Very Strong Reason That The Whole Of Biology Is Quite Definitely Only A Chapter In Certain Biographies, It Is What Biologists Do In The Portion Of Their Lives Open To Biography.