In Cheerful Souls There Is No Wit.

Every Beloved Object Is The Center Point Of A Paradise.

Sometimes With The Most Intense Pain A Paralysis Of Sensibility Occurs. The Soul Disintegrates--hence The Deadly Frost--the Free Power Of The Mind--the Shattering, Ceaseless Wit Of This Kind Of Despair. There Is No Inclination For Anything Any More--the Person Is Alone, Like A Baleful Power--as He Has No Connection With The Rest Of The World He Consumes Himself Gradually--and In Accordance With His Own Principle He Is--misanthropic And Misotheos.

Prayer Is To Religion What Thinking Is To Philosophy. To Pray Is To Make Religion.

Before Abstraction Everything Is One, But One Like Chaos; After Abstraction Everything Is United Again, But This Union Is A Free Binding Of Autonomous, Self-determined Beings. Out Of A Mob A Society Has Developed, Chaos Has Been Transformed Into A Manifold World.

Nature Is A Petrified Magic City.