No Idea Is Isolated, But Is Only

I Have Expressed Some Ideas That Point To The Center; I Have Saluted The Dawn In My Way, From My Point Of View. He Who Knows The Way Should Do The Same, In His Way, And From His Point Of View.

Prudishness Is Pretense Of Innocence Without Innocence. Women Have To Remain Prudish As Long As Men Are Sentimental, Dense, And Evil Enough To Demand Of Them Eternal Innocence And Lack Of Education. For Innocence Is The Only Thing Which Can Ennoble Lack Of Education.

The Life And Vigor Of Poetry Consists Of The Fact That It Steps Out Of Itself, Tears Out A Section Of Religion, Then Withdraws Into Itself To Assimilate It. The Same Is True Of Philosophy.

An Artist Is He For Whom The Goal And Center Of Life Is To Form His Mind.

There Are Ancient And Modern Poems Which Breathe, In Their Entirety And In Every Detail, The Divine Breath Of Irony. In Such Poemsthere Lives A Real Transcendental Buffoonery. Their Interior Is Permeated By The Mood Which Surveys Everything And Rises Infinitely Above Everything Limited, Even Above The Poet's Own Art, Virtue, And Genius; And Their Exterior Form By The Histrionic Style Of An Ordinary Good Italian Buffo.