There Is Only One Real Misfortune: To

Nothing Is More Curious And Awkward Than The Relationship Of Two People Who Only Know Each Other With Their Eyes — Who Meet And Observe Each Other Daily, Even Hourly And Who Keep Up The Impression Of Disinterest Either Because Of Morals Or Because Of A Mental Abnormality. Between Them There Is Listlessness And Pent-up Curiosity, The Hysteria Of An Unsatisfied, Unnaturally Suppressed Need For Communion And Also A Kind Of Tense Respect. Because Man Loves And Honors Man As Long As He Is Not Able To Judge Him, And Desire Is A Product Of Lacking Knowledge.

For The Myth Is The Foundation Of Life; It Is The Timeless Schema, The Pious Formula Into Which Life Flows When It Reproduces Its Traits Out Of The Unconscious.

If You Are Possessed By An Idea, You Find It Expressed Everywhere, You Even Smell It.

War Is Only A Cowardly Escape From The Problems Of Peace.

Time Has No Divisions To Mark Its Passage, There Is Never A Thunder-storm Or Blare Of Trumpets To Announce The Beginning Of A New Month Or Year. Even When A New Century Begins It Is Only We Mortals Who Ring Bells And Fire Off Pistols.