To Lie A Little Is Not Possible:

The Drama Is Complete Poetry. The Ode And The Epic Contain It Only In Germ; It Contains Both Of Them In A State Of High Development, And Epitomizes Both.

I Exist," Murmurs Someone Whose Name Is Everyone. "i'm Young And In Love; I Am Old And I Want Rest; I Work, I Prosper, I Do Good Business, I Have Houses To Rent, Money In State Securities; I Am Happy, I Have Wife And Children; I Like All These Things And I Want To Go On Living, So Leave Me Alone."... There Are Moments When All This Casts A Deep Chill On The Large-minded Pioneers Of The Human Race.

A Language Does Not Become Fixed. The Human Intellect Is Always On The March, Or, If You Prefer, In Movement, And Languages With It.

That Is To Be Two And To Be But One. A Man And A Woman Mingled Into One Angel. It Is Heaven.

Do You Know What Friendship Is?' He Asked. 'yes,' Replied The Gypsy; 'it Is To Be Brother And Sister; Two Souls Which Touch Without Mingling, Two Fingers On One Hand.' 'and Love?' Pursued Gringoire. 'oh! Love!' Said She, And Her Voice Trembled, And Her Eye Beamed. 'that Is To Be Two And To Be But One. A Man And A Woman Mingled Into One Angel. It Is Heaven.