The Radical Hostility, The Deadly Hostility Against

Life, And You, And I, And All Of Us Together Became For A While Interesing To Ourselves Once More.

Or Shall I Go Out As A Light Does, Not First Blown Out By The Wind, But Grown Tired And Weary Of Itself - A Burnt Out Light? Or Finally, Shall I Blow Myself Out, So As Not To Burn Out?

The Masters Have Been Done Away With; The Morality Of The Common Man Has Triumphed.

Has Anyone...any Distinct Notion Of What Poets Of A Stronger Age Understood By The Word Inspiration? ... There Is An Ecstasy Such That The Immese Strain Of It Is Sometimes Relaxed By A Flood Of Tears, Along With Which One's Steps Either Rush Or Involuntarily Lag, Alternately. There Is The Feeling That One Is Completely Out Of Hand, With The Very Distinct Consciousness Of An Endless Number Of Fine Thrills And Quiverings To The Very Toes... Everything Happens Quite Involuntarily, As If In A Tempestuous Outburst Of Freedom, Of Absoluteness, Of Power And Divinity.

We Are Responsible To Ourselves For Our Own Existence; Consequently We Want To Be The True Helmsman Of This Existence And Refuse To Allow Our Existence To Resemble A Mindless Act Of Chance.