When one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere.

The horse, the horse! The symbol of surging potency and power of movement, of action.

Gods should be iridescent, like the rainbow in the storm. Man creates a God in his own image, and the gods grow old along with the men that made them... But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard.

Why, oh why must one grow up, why must one inherit this heavy, numbing responsibility of living an undiscovered life? Out of the nothingness and the undifferentiated mass, to make something of herself! But what? In the obscurity and pathlessness to take a direction! But whither? How take even one step? And yet, how stand still? This was torment indeed, to inherit the responsibility of one’s own life.

The Moon! Artemis! the great goddess of the splendid past of men! Are you going to tell me she is a dead lump?

The history of our era is the nauseating and repulsive history of the crucifixion of the procreative body for the glorification ofthe spirit.

Let there be an end ... of all this welter of pity, which is only self-pity reflected onto some obvious surface.