What Gave You This Idea Of An

The Demand For Absolute Purity Of Genres Is Becoming Nowadays An Anachronism In Literature.

In Riemann, Hilbert Or In Banach Space Let Superscripts And Subscripts Go Their Ways. Our Symptotes No Longer Out Of Phase, We Shall Encounter, Counting, Face To Face.

That Human Existence Should Repeat Itself, Well And Good, But That It Should Repeat Itself Like A Hackneyed Tune, Or A Record A Drunkard Keeps Playing As He Feeds Coins Into The Jukebox...

For What Are Myths If Not The Imposing Of Order On Phenomena That Do Not Possess Order In Themselves? And All Myths, However They Differ From Philosophical Systems And Scientific Theories, Share This With Them, That They Negate The Principle Of Randomness In The World.

This Is Another Lie. We Are Only Seeking Man. We Have No Need Of Other Worlds. A Single World, Our Own, Suffices Us; But We Can't Accept It For What It Is. We Are Searching For An Ideal Image Of Our Own World: We Go In Quest Of A Planet, A Civilization Superior To Our Own But Developed On The Basis Of A Prototype Of Our Primeval Past.