War Is Only A Cowardly Escape From

There Is Only One Real Misfortune: To Forfeit One's Own Good Opinion Of Oneself. Lose Your Complacency, Once Betray Your Own Self-contempt And The World Will Unhesitatingly Endorse It.

There Were Profound Reasons For His Attachment To The Sea: He Loved It Because As A Hardworking Artist He Needed Rest, Needed To Escape From The Demanding Complexity Of Phenomena And Lie Hidden On The Bosom Of The Simple And Tremendous; Because Of A Forbidden Longing Deep Within Him That Ran Quite Contrary To His Life's Task And Was For That Very Reason Seductive, A Longing For The Unarticulated And Immeasurable, For Eternity, For Nothingness. To Rest In The Arms Of Perfection Is The Desire Of Any Man Intent Upon Creating Excellence; And Is Not Nothingness A Form Of Perfection?

Stupid — Well, There Are So Many Kinds Of Stupidity, And Cleverness Is One Of The Worst.

And Then The Sly Arch-lover That He Was, He Said The Subtlest Thing Of All: That The Lover Was Nearer The Divine Than The Beloved; For The God Was In The One But Not In The Other - Perhaps The Tenderest, Most Mocking Thought That Ever Was Thought, And Source Of All The Guile And Secret Bliss The Lover Knows.

Technology And Comfort - Having Those, People Speak Of Culture, But Do Not Have It.