Certain Books Seem To Be Written, Not

One's Roused By This, Another Finds That Fit: Each Loves The Play For What He Brings To It.

Unlimited Activity, Of Whatever Kind, Must End In Bankruptcy.

A School Of Art Or Of Anything Else Is To Be Looked On As A Single Individual, Who Keeps Talking To Himself For A Hundred Years, And Feels An Extreme Satisfaction With His Own Circle Of Favorite Ideas, Be They Ever So Silly.

For That Is Love's Nature That It Lays Claim To Exclusive Right And That All Other Claims Are Nil.

Only By Joy And Sorrow Does A Person Know Anything About Themselves And Their Destiny. They Learn What To Do And What To Avoid.