... For The Modern Soul, For Which

Writing [for The Novelist] Is Not An Activity, But A Condition. That Is Why One Simply Can't Resume The Work When One Has A Job And A Free Half-day. Reading Is The Conveyance Of This Condition.

With Its Claims To Profundity, Boldness And Originality, Thinking Still Limits Itself Provisionally To The Exclusively Rational And Scientific. ... As Soon As It Lays Hold Of The Feelings, It Becomes Spirit.

You See How Wrong I Go, How Ridiculous I'm Making Myself In Your Eyes By Keeping On Guessing Wrong Like This! Doesn't That Help You To Come Out With It? Come On Now!

What Is Perceptible To One’s Mistrust Is The Cut-and-dried Way That Life Is Divided Up And The Ready-made Form It Assumes, The Ever-recurring Sameness Of It, The Pre-formations Passed Down By Generation After Generation, The Ready-made Language Not Only Of The Tongue But Also Of The Sensations And The Feelings.

Mathematics Is The Bold Luxury Of Pure Reason, One Of The Few That Remain Today.