There's Still Such Chaos In Me. Still

Because It Corresponds To A Vital Need, Love Is Overvalued In Our Culture. It Becomes A Phantom - Like Success - Carrying With It The Illusion That It Is A Solution For All Problems.

There's Still Such Chaos In Me. Still So Little Firmly Outlined. Just Like My Face: A Formless Mass That Only Takes On Shape Through The Expression Of The Moment. The Searching For Our Selves Is The Most Agonizing

The Perfect Normal Person Is Rare In Our Civilization.

Through The Eclipse Of Large Areas Of The Self, By Repression And Inhibition As Well As By Idealization And Externalization, The Individual Loses Sight Of Himself; He Feels, If He Does Not Actually Become, Like A Shadow Without Weight And Substance.

Is Not The Tremendous Strength In Men Of The Impulse To Creative Work In Every Field Precisely Due To Their Feeling Of Playing A Relatively Small Part In The Creation Of Living Beings, Which Constantly Impels Them To An Overcompensation In Achievement?