I Wait For The Morning Of My

Behavior Is The Mirror In Which Everyone Shows Their Image.

No One Is Willing To Believe That Adults Too, Like Children, Wander About This Earth In A Daze And, Like Children, Do Not Know Where They Come From Or Where They Are Going, Act As Rarely As They Do According To Genuine Motives, And Are As Thoroughly Governed As They Are By Biscuits And Cake And The Rod.

There Is A Great Difference, Whether The Poet Seeks The Particular For The Sake Of The General Or Sees The General In The Particular. From The Former Procedure There Ensues Allegory, In Which The Particular Serves Only As Illustration, As Example Of The General. The Latter Procedure, However, Is Genuinely The Nature Of Poetry; It Expresses Something Particular, Without Thinking Of The General Or Pointing To It.

Would You Require A Wretched Being, Whose Life Is Slowly Wasting Under A Lingering Disease, To Despatch Himself At Once By The Stroke Of A Dagger? Does Not The Very Disorder Which Consumes His Strength Deprive Him Of The Courage To Effect His Deliverance?

The Further One Advances In Experience, The Closer One Comes To The Unfathomable; The More One Learns To Utilize Experience, The More One Recognizes That The Unfathomable Is Of No Practical Value.