Animals Do Not Admire Each Other. A

Yes, They Are Carnal, Both Of Them, Love And Death, And Therein Lies Their Terror And Their Great Magic!

Isn't It Grand, Isn't It Good, That Language Has Only One Word For Everything We Associate With Love - From Utter Sanctity To The Most Fleshly Lust? The Result Is Perfect Clarity In Ambiguity, For Love Cannot Be Disembodied Even In Its Most Sanctified Forms, Nor Is It Without Sanctity Even At Its Most Fleshly. Love Is Always Simply Itself, Both As A Subtle Affirmation Of Life And As The Highest Passion; Love Is Our Sympathy With Organic Life.

Innate In Nearly Every Artistic Nature Is A Wanton, Treacherous Penchant For Accepting Injustice When It Creates Beauty And Showing Sympathy For And Paying Homage To Aristocratic Privilege.

If The Years Of Youth Are Experienced Slowly, While The Later Years Of Life Hurtle Past At An Ever-increasing Speed, It Must Be Habit That Causes It. We Know Full Well That The Insertion Of New Habits Or The Changing Of Old Ones Is The Only Way To Preserve Life, To Renew Our Sense Of Time, To Rejuvenate, Intensify, And Retard Our Experience Of Time - And Thereby Renew Our Sense Of Life Itself. That Is The Reason For Every Change Of Scenery And Air.

One Has The Idea Of A Stupid Man As Perfectly Healthy And Ordinary, And Of Illness As Making One Refined And Clever And Unusual.