One's action ought to come out of an achieved stillness: not to be mere rushing on.

There is nothing to save, now all is lost,
but a tiny core of stillness in the heart
like the eye of a violet.

Having achieved and accomplished love... man... has become himself, his tale is told.

The horse, the horse! The symbol of surging potency and power of movement, of action.

The only history is a mere question of one's struggle inside oneself. But that is the joy of it. One need neither discover Americas nor conquer nations, and yet one has as great a work as Columbus or Alexander, to do.

The more I see of democracy the more I dislike it. It just brings everything down to the mere vulgar level of wages and prices, electric light and water closets, and nothing else.