There Is No Part Of Me That

Anything Which Throws Light Upon The Universe, Anything Which Reveals Us To Ourselves, Should Be Welcome In This World Of Riddles.

When One Walks, One Is Brought Into Touch First Of All With The Essential Relations Between One's Physical Powers And The Character Of The Country; One Is Compelled To See It As Its Natives Do. Then Every Man One Meets Is An Individual.

We Can No Longer Assert Any Single Proposition, Unless We Guard Ourselves By Enumerating Countless Conditions Which Must Be Assumed.

Dreams Are Imperfections Of Sleep; Even So Is Consciousness The Imperfection Of Waking. Dreams Are Impurities In The Circulation Of The Blood; Even So It's Consciousness A Disorder Of Life. Dreams Are Without Proportion, Without Good Sense, Without Truth; So Also Is Consciousness. Awake From Dream, The Truth Is Known: Awake From Waking. The Truth Is: The Unknown

The Priestess Of Artemis Took Hold Of Her Almost With The Violence Of A Lover, And Whisked Her Away Into A Languid Ecstasy Of Reverie. She Communicated Her Own Enthusiasm To The Girl, And Kept Her Mind Occupied With Dreams, Faery-fervid, Of Uncharted Seas Of Glory On Which Her Galleon Might Sail, Undiscovered Countries Of Spice And Sweetness, Eldorado And Utopia And The City Of God.