Ah, if you could dance all that you've just said, then I'd understand.

Everything in this world has a hidden meaning.

When shall I at last retire into solitude alone, without companions, without joy and without sorrow, with only the sacred certainty that all is a dream? When, in my rags—without desires—shall I retire contented into the mountains? When, seeing that my body is merely sickness and crime, age and death, shall I—free, fearless, and blissful—retire to the forest? When? When, oh when?

For I realize today that it is a mortal sin to violate the great laws of nature. We should not hurry, we should not be impatient, but we should confidently obey the eternal rhythm.

Good Lord, how can the rich bear to die?

You can knock on a deaf man's door forever.

The ultimate, most holy form of theory is action.