It Is The Good War That Hallows

Wherever Primitive Man Put Up A Word, He Believed He Had Made A Discovery. How Utterly Mistaken He Really Was! He Had Touched A Problem, And While Supposing He Had Solved It, He Had Created And Obstacle To Its Solution. Now, With Every New Knowledge We Stumble Over Flint-like And Petrified Words And, In So Doing, Break A Leg Sooner Than A Word.

To Die Proudly When It Is No Longer Possible To Live Proudly. Death Of One's Own Free Choice, Death At The Proper Time, With A Clear Head And With Joyfulness, Consummated In The Midst Of Children And Witnesses: So That An Actual Leave-taking Is Possible While He Who Is Leaving Is Still There.

Those Are My Enemies: They Want To Overthrow And To Construct Nothing Themselves. They Say: "all That Is Worthless"--and Want To Create No Value Themselves.

My Wisdom Has Long Accumulated Like A Cloud, It Becomes Stiller And Darker. So Does All Wisdom Which Shall One Day Bear Lightnings.

No One Can Construct For You The Bridge Upon Which Precisely You Must Cross The Stream Of Life, No One But You Yourself Alone.