Greed Probably Figures In My Intellectual Life

Everything Is Chance, Or Nothing Is Chance. If I Believed The First, I Would Be Unable To Live On, But I Am Not Yet Fully Convinced Of The Second.

The Fact Is I Don't Lead A Simple Enough Inner Life. I Indulge In Excesses, Bacchanalia Of The Spirit. Perhaps I Identify Too Much With Everything I Read And Study. Someone Like Dostoevsky Still Shatters Me.

Ultimately, We Have Just One Moral Duty: To Reclaim Large Areas Of Peace In Ourselves, More And More Peace, And To Reflect It Towards Others. And The More Peace There Is In Us, The More Peace There Will Be In Our Troubled World.

Every Day I Shall Put My Papers In Order And Every Day I Shall Say Farewell. And The Real Farewell, When It Comes, Will Only Be A Small Outward Confirmation Of What Has Been Accomplished Within Me From Day To Day.

Slowly But Surely I Have Been Soaking Rilke Up These Last Few Months: The Man, His Work And His Life. And That Is Probably The Only Right Way With Literature, With Study, With People Or With Anything Else: To Let It All Soak In, To Let It All Mature Slowly Inside You Until It Has Become A Part Of Yourself. That, Too, Is A Growing Process. Everything Is A Growing Process. And In Between, Emotions And Sensations That Strike You Like Lightning. But Still The Most Important Thing Is The Organic Process Of Growing.