Solitude produces originality, bold and astonishing beauty, poetry. But solitude also produces perverseness, the disproportianate, the absurd and the forbidden.
Russian women all have something free and large about them.
Reduced to a miserable mass level, the level of a Hitler, German Romanticism broke out into hysterical barbarism.
Psycho-analyses — how disgusting.
Profundity must smile.
Politics has been called the “art of the possible,” and it actually is a realm akin to art insofar as, like art, it occupies a creatively mediating position between spirit and life, the idea and reality.
Passionate — that means to live for the sake of living.
Paradox is the poisonous flower of quietism, the iridescent surface of the rotting mind, the greatest depravity of all.
Our air up here is good for the disease — I mean good against the disease,… but it is also good for the disease.
Order and simplification are the first steps toward the mastery of a subject — the actual enemy is the unknown.
Opinions cannot survive if one has no chance to fight for them.
One must die to life in order to be utterly a creator.