Man is a thought-adventurer.
Beauty is an experience, nothing else. It is not a fixed pattern or an arrangement of features. It is something felt, a glow or a communicated sense of fineness.
It's autumn and everybody feels like a disembodied spirit then.
Only this shimmeriness is the real living. The shape is a dead crust. The shimmer is inside really.
Now in November nearer comes the sun down the abandoned heaven.
The world is wonderful and beautiful and good beyond one's wildest imagination. Never, never, never could one conceive what love is, beforehand, never. Life can be great-quite god-like. It can be so. God be thanked I have proved it.