In Books We Never Find Anything But

He Thought What A Fine Thing It Was That People Made Music All Over The World, Even In The Strangest Settings – Probably Even On Polar Expeditions.

Nothing Is More Curious And Awkward Than The Relationship Of Two People Who Only Know Each Other With Their Eyes — Who Meet And Observe Each Other Daily, Even Hourly And Who Keep Up The Impression Of Disinterest Either Because Of Morals Or Because Of A Mental Abnormality. Between Them There Is Listlessness And Pent-up Curiosity, The Hysteria Of An Unsatisfied, Unnaturally Suppressed Need For Communion And Also A Kind Of Tense Respect. Because Man Loves And Honors Man As Long As He Is Not Able To Judge Him, And Desire Is A Product Of Lacking Knowledge.

One Has The Idea Of A Stupid Man As Perfectly Healthy And Ordinary, And Of Illness As Making One Refined And Clever And Unusual.

What A Wonderful Phenomenon It Is, Carefully Considered, When The Human Eye, That Jewel Of Organic Structures, Concentrates Its Moist Brilliance On Another Human Creature!

There Were Profound Reasons For His Attachment To The Sea: He Loved It Because As A Hardworking Artist He Needed Rest, Needed To Escape From The Demanding Complexity Of Phenomena And Lie Hidden On The Bosom Of The Simple And Tremendous; Because Of A Forbidden Longing Deep Within Him That Ran Quite Contrary To His Life's Task And Was For That Very Reason Seductive, A Longing For The Unarticulated And Immeasurable, For Eternity, For Nothingness. To Rest In The Arms Of Perfection Is The Desire Of Any Man Intent Upon Creating Excellence; And Is Not Nothingness A Form Of Perfection?