What We Do In Dreams We Also

The Unlucky Hand Dealt To Clear And Precise Writers Is That People Assume They Are Superficial And So Do Not Go To Any Trouble Inreading Them: And The Lucky Hand Dealt To Unclear Ones Is That The Reader Does Go To Some Trouble And Then Attributes The Pleasure He Experiences In His Own Zeal To Them.

Why Couldn't The World That Concerns Us- Be A Fiction? And If Somebody Asked, 'but To Be A Fiction There Surely Belongs An Author?'- Couldn't One Answer Simply: 'why? Doesn't This "belongs" Perhaps Belong To The Fiction, Too?'

The Lie Is A Condition Of Life.

But What If Pleasure And Pain Should Be So Closely Connected That He Who Wants The Greatest Possible Amount Of The One Must Also Have The Greatest Possible Amount Of The Other, That He Who Wants To Experience The "heavenly High Jubilation," Must Also Be Ready To Be "sorrowful Unto Death"?

Smooth Iceis Paradisefor Those Who Dance With Expertise.