The Doors Of Heaven And Hell Are

The Highest Point A Man Can Attain Is Not Knowledge, Or Virtue, Or Goodness, Or Victory, But Something Even Greater, More Heroic And More Despairing: Sacred Awe!

Every Perfect Traveler Always Creates The Country Where He Travels.

What First Truly Stirred My Soul Was Not Fear Or Pain, Nor Was It Pleasure Or Games; It Was The Yearning For Freedom. I Had To Gain Freedom-but From What, From Whom? Little By Little, In The Course Of Time, I Mounted Freedom's Rough Unaccommodating Ascent. To Gain Freedom First Of All From The Turk, That Was The Initial Step; After That, Later, This New Struggle Began: To Gain Freedom From The Inner Turk-from Ignorance, Malice And Envy, From Fear And Laziness, From Dazzling False Ideas; And Finally From Idols, All Of Them, Even The Most Revered And Beloved.

When Shall I At Last Retire Into Solitude Alone, Without Companions, Without Joy And Without Sorrow, With Only The Sacred Certainty That All Is A Dream? When, In My Rags—without Desires—shall I Retire Contented Into The Mountains? When, Seeing That My Body Is Merely Sickness And Crime, Age And Death, Shall I—free, Fearless, And Blissful—retire To The Forest? When? When, Oh When?

By Believing Passionately In Something That Still Does Not Exist, We Create It. The Nonexistent Is Whatever We Have Not Sufficiently Desired.