I'm A Libertine, But It's Not My

The Work Of Bestial Degradation, Begun By The Victorious Germans, Had Been Carried To Its Conclusion By The Germans In Defeat.

To Accuse Another Of Having Weak Kidneys, Lungs, Or Heart, Is Not A Crime; On The Contrary, Saying He Has A Weak Brain Is A Crime. To Be Considered Stupid And To Be Told So Is More Painful Than Being Called Gluttonous, Mendacious, Violent, Lascivious, Lazy, Cowardly: Every Weakness, Every Vice, Has Found Its Defenders, Its Rhetoric, Its Ennoblement And Exaltation, But Stupidity Hasn't.

Man Is A Centaur, A Tangle Of Flesh And Mind, Divine Inspiration And Dust.

Perfection Belongs To Narrated Events, Not To Those We Live.

He Was A Physicist, More Precisely An Astrophysicist, Diligent And Eager But Without Illusions: The Truth Lay Beyond, Inaccessible To Our Telescopes, Accessible To The Initiates. This Was A Long Road Which He Was Traveling With Effort, Wonderment, And Profound Joy. Physics Was Prose: Elegant Gymnastics For The Mind, Mirror Of Creation, The Key To Man's Dominion Over The Planet; But What Is The Stature Of Creation, Of Man And The Planet? His Road Was Long And He Had Barely Started Up It, But I Was His Disciple: Did I Want To Follow Him?