The Circumstances Of My Life Are Paralyzing.

Eroticism, It May Be Said, Is Assenting To Life Up To The Point Of Death

Entirety Exists Within Me As Exuberance In Empty Longing In The Desire To Burn With Desire.

But A Sort Of Rupture-in Anguish-leaves Us At The Limit Of Tears: In Such A Case We Lose Ourselves, We Forget Ourselves And Communicate With An Elusive Beyond.

Philosophy Finds Itself To Be No Longer Anything But The Heir To A Fabulous Mystical Theology, But Missing A God And Wiping The Slate Clean.

The Anguish Of The Neurotic Individual Is The Same As That Of The Saint. The Neurotic, The Saint Are Engaged In The Same Battle. Their Blood Flows From Similar Wounds. But The First One Gasps And The Other One Gives.