To Forget One's Purpose Is The Commonest

Our Faith In Others Betrays That We Would Rather Have Faith In Ourselves. Our Longing For A Friend Is Our Betrayer. And Often With Our Love We Want Merely To Overcome Envy. And Often We Attack And Make Ourselves Enemies, To Conceal That We Are Vulnerable.

The Form Of A Work Of Art, Which Gives Speech To Their Thoughts And Is, Therefore, Their Mode Of Talking, Is Always Somewhat Uncertain, Like All Kinds Of Speech.

He Who Is Usually Self-sufficient Becomes Exceptionally Vain And Keenly Alive To Fame And Praise When He Is Physically Ill. The More He Loses Himself The More He Has To Endeavor To Regain His Position By Means Of The Opinion Of Others.

But Thought Is One Thing, The Deed Is Another, And The Image Of The Deed Still Another: The Wheel Of Causality Does Not Roll Between Them.

Life Is Fountain Of Joy; But Where The Rabble Also Gather To Drink, All Wells Are Poisoned.