This, I Thought, Is How Great Visionaries

You Gave Me Your Curse, Holy Fathers. I Give You A Blessing: May You Be As Moral And Religious As I Am.

In Order To Succeed, We Must First Believe That We Can.

Throughout My Life, My Greatest Benefactors Have Been My Dreams And My Travels; Very Few Men, Living Or Dead, Have Helped Me In My Struggle.

Once More I Realized To What An Extent Earthly Happiness Is Made To The Measure Of Man. It Is Not A Rare Bird Which We Must Pursue At One Moment In Heaven, At The Next In Our Minds. Happiness Is A Domestic Bird Found In Our Own Courtyards.

When Shall I At Last Retire Into Solitude Alone, Without Companions, Without Joy And Without Sorrow, With Only The Sacred Certainty That All Is A Dream? When, In My Rags—without Desires—shall I Retire Contented Into The Mountains? When, Seeing That My Body Is Merely Sickness And Crime, Age And Death, Shall I—free, Fearless, And Blissful—retire To The Forest? When? When, Oh When?