I Love The Great Despisers Because They

We Would Not Let Ourselves Be Burned To Death For Our Opinions: We Are Not Sure Enough Of Them For That.

The Form Of A Work Of Art, Which Gives Speech To Their Thoughts And Is, Therefore, Their Mode Of Talking, Is Always Somewhat Uncertain, Like All Kinds Of Speech.

New Ways I Go, A New Speech Comes To Me; Weary I Grow, Like All Creators, Of The Old Tongues. My Spirit No Longer Wants To Walk On Worn Soles.

We Become Aware, However, That All Customs, Even The Hardest, Grow Pleasanter And Milder With Time, And That The Severest Way Of Life May Become A Habit And Therefore A Pleasure.

If There Is To Be Art, If There Is To Be Any Aesthetic Doing And Seeing, One Physiological Condition Is Indispensable: Frenzy.