The philosopher caught in the nets of language.

I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to be wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over the bridge.

Little prigs and three-quarter madmen may have the conceit that the laws of nature are constantly broken for their sakes.

For art to exist, for any sort of aesthetic activity to exist, a certain physiological precondition is indispensable: intoxication.

Time flies apace-we would fain believe that everything flies forward with it.

All truth is simple... is that not doubly a lie?

One must know how to conserve oneself- the best test of independence.