For it is the suffering flesh, it is suffering, it is death, that lovers perpetuate upon the earth. Love is at once the brother, son, and father of death, which is its sister, mother, and daughter. And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth of eternal despair, out of which springs hope and consolation.
True Science teaches, above all, to doubt, and to be ignorant.
That which the Fascists hate above all else, is intelligence. In Spain, erudition tends to mask the fetid sore of moral cowardice that has poisoned our collective soul. They pick out a book here and there, extracting sentences and doctrines which they put together and stew, or they spend a year or two or twenty rummaging through files and stacks of papers in some archive or other so that they may announce this or that discovery. The object is to avoid looking into one's own heart and plumbing it, to avoid thinking and, even more, feeling. Love is the child of illusion and the parent of disillusion.