It Is Neither The Best Nor The

There Is Something Laughable About The Sight Of Authors Who Enjoy The Rustling Folds Of Long And Involved Sentences: They Are Trying To Cover Up Their Feet.

Wherever I Found A Living Creature, There I Found The Will To Power.

Instruments And Playthings Are Sense And Spirit: Behind Them There Is Still The Self. The Self Seeketh With The Eyes Of The Senses, It Hearkeneth Also With The Ears Of The Spirit.

I Listened For The Echo, And I Heard Only Praise —

That For Which We Find Words Is Something Already Dead In Our Hearts.