Love Is Not A Desire For Beauty;

Images, Memories, Fragmentary Shapes And Forms All Those Sensations, Visions, Half-thoughts That Appear And Disappear In The Wink Of An Eye, As One Sets Forth To Meet.... The Path Also Disappears As I Think Of It, As I Say It.

Love Is Not A Desire For Beauty; It Is A Yearning For Completion.

Power Immobilizes; It Freezes With A Single Gesture-grandiose, Terrible, Theatrical, Or Finally, Simply Monotonous-the Variety Which Is Life.

It Is Always Difficult To Give Oneself Up; Few Persons Anywhere Ever Succeed In Doing So, And Even Fewer Transcend The Possessive Stage To Know Love For What It Actually Is: A Perpetual Discovery, And Immersion In The Waters Of Reality, An Unending Re-creation.

The American: A Titan Enamored Of Progress, A Fanatical Giant Who Worships "getting Things Done" But Never Asks Himself What He Is Doing Nor Why He Is Doing It.