Distance In A Straight Line Has No

For The Sake Of Goodness And Love, Man Shall Let Death Have No Sovereignty Over His Thoughts.

He Who Loves The More Is The Inferior And Must Suffer.

Forbearance In The Face Of Fate, Beauty Constant Under Torture, Are Not Merely Passive. They Are A Positive Achievement, An Explicit Triumph.

The Observations And Encounters Of A Solitary, Taciturn Man Are Vaguer And At The Same Times More Intense Than Those Of A Sociable Man; His Thoughts Are Deeper, Odder And Never Without A Touch Of Sadness. Images And Perceptions That Could Be Dismissed With A Glance, A Laugh, An Exchange Of Opinions, Occupy Him Unduly, Become More Intense In The Silence, Become Significant, Become An Experience, An Adventure, An Emotion. Solitude Produces Originality, Bold And Astonishing Beauty, Poetry. But Solitude Also Produces Perverseness, The Disproportionate, The Absurd And The Forbidden.

One Must Die To Life In Order To Be Utterly A Creator.