There Is An Old Illusion. It Is

One Should Not Understand This Compulsion To Construct Concepts, Species, Forms, Purposes, Laws ('a World Of Identical Cases') As If They Enabled Us To Fix The Real World; But As A Compulsion To Arrange A World For Ourselves In Which Our Existence Is Made Possible:-we Thereby Create A World Which Is Calculable, Simplified, Comprehensible, Etc., For Us.

Whoever Has Really Sacrificed Anything, Knows That He Wanted And Got Something In Return.

Man Demands Truth And Fulfills This Demand In Moral Intercourse With Other Men; This Is The Basis Of All Social Life. One Anticipates The Unpleasant Consequences Of Reciprocal Lying. From This There Arises The Duty Of Truth. We Permit Epic Poets To Lie Because We Expect No Detrimental Consequences In This Case. Thus The Lie Is Permitted Where It Is Considered Something Pleasant. Assuming That It Does No Harm, The Lie Is Beautiful And Charming.

In Loneliness, The Lonely One Eats Himself; In A Crowd, The Many Eat Him. Now Choose.

The Question Of Place And Climate Is Most Closely Related To The Question Of Nutrition. Nobody Is Free To Live Everywhere; And Whoever Has To Solve Great Problems That Challenge All His Strength Actually Has A Very Restricted Choice In This Matter. The Influence Of Climate On Our Metabolism, Its Retardation, Its Acceleration, Goes So Far That A Mistaken Choice Of Place And Climate Can Not Only Estrange A Man From His Task But Can Actually Keep It From Him: He Never Gets To See It.