If Content With Himself And Mankind, A

We Remember Childhood As The Fabulous Years Of Our Lives, And Nations Remember Their Childhood As Fabulous Years.

The Artist's Conception Of His Art Or The Scientist's Of His Science Is Usually As Great As His Conception Of His Own Worth Is Small.

Rest Forever, Tired Heart. The Final Illusion Has Perished. The One We Believed Eternal Is Gone. Just Like That. Out The Door Desire Follows Hope. Rest Forever. Enough Throbbing. Nothing Deserves Your Attention Nor Is The Earth Worth A Sigh. Bitterness And Boredom Is Life, Nothing Else Ever, And The World Is Mud. Quiet Now. Despair For The Last Time. Fate Gives Us Dying As A Gift. Now Turn From The Hills, The Ugly Hidden Power Which Rules For The Common Evil And The Infinite Vanity Of It All.

Death Is Not An Evil, Because It Frees Us From All Evils, And While It Takes Away Good Things, It Takes Away Also The Desire For Them. Old Age Is The Supreme Evil, Because It Deprives Us Of All Pleasures, Leaving Us Only The Appetite For Them, And It Brings With It All Sufferings. Nevertheless, We Fear Death, And We Desire Old Age.

I Find It Awfully Difficult To Determine If The Habit Of Talking About Oneself At Length Runs Contrary To The Basic Rules Of Propriety, Or If Instead The Man Exempt From This Vice Is Rare.