Religion Is Absolutely Unfathomable. Always And Everywhere

One Mentions Many Artists Who Are Actually Art Works Of Nature.

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.

A Definition Of Poetry Can Only Determine What Poetry Should Be And Not What Poetry Actually Was And Is; Otherwise The Most Concise Formula Would Be: Poetry Is That Which At Some Time And Some Place Was Thus Named.

Only He Who Possesses A Personal Religion, An Original View Of Infinity, Can Be An Artist.

Religion Must Completely Encircle The Spirit Of Ethical Man Like His Element, And This Luminous Chaos Of Divine Thoughts And Feelings Is Called Enthusiasm.