To The Lover The Loved One Always

Nothing Is Poorer Than A Truth Expressed As It Was Thought. Committed To Writing In Such Cases, It Is Not Even A Bad Photograph. Truth Wants To Be Startled Abruptly, At One Stroke, From Her Self-immersion, Whether By Uproar, Music Or Cries For Help.

Like Ultraviolet Rays Memory Shows To Each Man In The Book Of Life A Script That Invisibly And Prophetically Glosses The Text.

The Present, Which, As A Model Of Messianic Time, Comprises The Entire History Of Mankind In An Enormous Abridgment, Coincides With The Stature Which The History Of Mankind Has In The Universe.

Experience Has Taught Me That The Shallowest Of Communist Platitudes Contains More Of A Hierarchy Of Meaning Than Contemporary Bourgeois Profundity.

He Who Asks Fortune-tellers The Future Unwittingly Forfeits An Inner Intimation Of Coming Events That Is A Thousand Times More Exact Than Anything They May Say. He Is Impelled By Inertia, Rather Than Curiosity, And Nothing Is More Unlike The Submissive Apathy With Which He Hears His Fate Revealed Than The Alert Dexterity With Which The Man Of Courage Lays Hands On The Future.