There Is Not Enough Religion In The

We Only Hear Questions That We Are Able To Answer.

Consider The Cattle, Grazing As They Pass You By. They Do Not Know What Is Meant By Yesterday Or Today, They Leap About, Eat, Rest, Digest, Leap About Again, And So From Morn Till Night And From Day To Day, Fettered To The Moment And Its Pleasure Or Displeasure, And Thus Neither Melancholy Nor Bored. [...] A Human Being May Well Ask An Animal: 'why Do You Not Speak To Me Of Your Happiness But Only Stand And Gaze At Me?' The Animal Would Like To Answer, And Say, 'the Reason Is I Always Forget What I Was Going To Say' - But Then He Forgot This Answer Too, And Stayed Silent.

How Can A Man Know Himself? He Is A Thing Dark And Veiled; And If The Hare Has Seven Skins, Man Can Slough Off Seventy Times Seven And Still Not Be Able To Say: "this Is Really You, This Is No Longer Outer Shell.

War Has Always Been The Grand Sagacity Of Every Spirit Which Has Grown Too Inward And Too Profound; Its Curative Power Lies Even In The Wounds One Receives.

What Destroys A Man More Quickly Than To Work, Think And Feel Without Inner Necessity, Without Any Deep Personal Desire, Without Pleasure - As A Mere Automaton Of Duty?