Character And Fate Are Two

In A Work Of Art, Chaos Must Shimmer Through The Veil Of Order.

Tools Arm The Man. One Can Well Say That Man Is Capable Of Bringing Forth A World; He Lacks Only The Necessary Apparatus, The Corresponding Armature Of His Sensory Tools. The Beginning Is There. Thus The Principle Of A Warship Lies In The Idea Of The Shipbuilder, Who Is Able To Incorporate This Thought By Making Himself Into A Gigantic Machine, As It Were, Through A Mass Of Men And Appropriate Tools And Materials. Thus The Idea Of A Moment Often Required Monstrous Organs, Monstrous Masses Of Materials, And Man Is Therefore A Potential, If Not An Actual Creator.

Friendship, Love, And Piety Ought To Be Handled With A Sort Of Mysterious Secrecy; They Ought To Be Spoken Of Only In The Rare Moments Of Perfect Confidence, To Be Mutually Understood In Silence. Many Things Are Too Delicate To Be Thought; Many More, To Be Spoken.

The Best Thing About The Sciences Is Their Philosophical Ingredient, Like Life For An Organic Body. If One Dephilosophizes The Sciences, What Remains Left? Earth, Air, And Water.

Nature Is An Aeolian Harp, A Musical Instrument Whose Tones Are The Re-echo Of Higher Strings Within Us.