Is Not Life In Itself A Thing

Reduced To A Miserable Mass Level, The Level Of A Hitler, German Romanticism Broke Out Into Hysterical Barbarism.

Everything Is Politics.

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.

Forbearance In The Face Of Fate, Beauty Constant Under Torture, Are Not Merely Passive. They Are A Positive Achievement, An Explicit Triumph.

Time Cools, Time Clarifies; No Mood Can Be Maintained Quite Unaltered Through The Course Of Hours.