For myself, I do not now know in any concrete human terms wherein my individuality consists. In my present human form of consciousness I simply cannot tell.

Only the more uncompromising of the mystics still seek for knowledge in a silent land of absolute intuition, where the intellect finally lays down its conceptual tools, and rests from its pragmatic labors, while its works do not follow it, but are simply forgotten, and are as if they never had been.

For the Absolute, as we now know, all life is individual, but is individual as expressing a meaning.

Unless you can find some sort of LOYALTY, you cannot find unity and peace in your active living.

Life involves passions, faiths, doubts, and courage.

Memory and hope constantly incite us to the extensions of the self which play so large a part in our daily life.

The unique eludes us; yet we remain faithful to the ideal of it; and in spite of sense and of our merely abstract thinking, it becomes for us the most real thing in the actual world, although for us it is the elusive goal of an infinite quest.