Building Worlds Is Not Enough For The

The True Poet Is All-knowing; He Is An Actual World In Miniature.

Darwin Remarks That We Are Less Dazzled By The Light At Waking, If We Have Been Dreaming Of Visible Objects. Happy Are Those Who Have Here Dreamt Of A Higher Vision! They Will The Sooner Be Able To Endure The Glories Of The World To Come.

The Poem Of The Understanding Is Philosophy.

Where Are We Really Going? Always Home.

Sometimes With The Most Intense Pain A Paralysis Of Sensibility Occurs. The Soul Disintegrates--hence The Deadly Frost--the Free Power Of The Mind--the Shattering, Ceaseless Wit Of This Kind Of Despair. There Is No Inclination For Anything Any More--the Person Is Alone, Like A Baleful Power--as He Has No Connection With The Rest Of The World He Consumes Himself Gradually--and In Accordance With His Own Principle He Is--misanthropic And Misotheos.