He Loved Books; Books Are Cold But

No One Knows Like A Woman How To Say Things Which Are At Once Gentle And Deep.

Brothers, He Who Dies Here Dies In The Radiance Of The Future, And We Are Entering A Tomb All Flooded With The Dawn.

Every Day Has Its Great Grief Or Its Small Anxiety. ... One Cloud Is Dispelled, Another Forms. There Is Hardly One Day In A Hundred Of Real Joy And Bright Sunshine.

I Believe That Pity Is A Law Like Justice, And That Kindness Is A Duty Like Uprightness. That Which Is Weak Has A Right To The Kindness And Pity Of That Which Is Strong. In The Relations Of Man With The Animals...there Is A Great Ethic, Scarcely Perceived As Yet, Which Will At Length Break Through Into The Light, And Which Will Be The Corollary And The Complement To Humans Ethics. Are There Not Here Unsounded Depths For The Thinker? Is One To Think Oneself Mad Because One Has The Sentiment Of Universal Pity In One's Heart?

In This Way, His Unhappy Soul Struggled With Its Anguish. Eighteen Hundred Years Before This Unfortunate Man, The Mysterious Being, In Whom All The Sanctities And All The Sufferings Of Humanity Come Together, He Too, While The Olive Trees Trembled In The Fierce Breath Of The Infinite, Had Brushed Away The Fearful Cup That Appeared Before Him, Streaming With Shadow And Running Over With Darkness, In The Star-filled Depths. (pg. 236)