Malicious!

Isn't it true?

Of course it's true: that's what makes it so dangerous.

Love is wonderful insight into the nature of the soul.

If she in her beauty should remain sleepless
Merely two nights long - !

But the moon never tires a shining.

When for a few hours I have fought sleep
Failingly - !

But the sun tires not of shining!

O myriad thoughted one who has
Beset me - !

But the stars never tire a shining!

With one foot buried in flowers!

Friends this world is somewhat a strange place

And will you hear me tell of it

How it is strange? Yes? No?

To J. H. W.

You are the cool light in rich shadows
The blue sky reflecting over brown
From trees and house wall!

As blue is known triumphant over shadow
You have the victory.

My mind is full of tall buildings with their tops hidden in mists.

For the mistakes of our elders make us truly thankful O Lord!

Theo can be no great art until simple terms have been given a meaning
by universal personal heroism and disregard of self, a physical heroism.

The secret of life is to do useless things with the utmost vigor.

One realizes the buisness of afternoon functions when he sees a num-
ber of twenty year females turning into an entry and reflects that it is
his engagement to one of them that is to be announced.

" Anything that sounds hard and means nothing."

Why are you so cheerful?

Do you think you have cause to know sorrow?

The fellow made me walk about three feet high.

Closed brains.

DIE IRLEN: ( Prague, Bohemia.)

(Translation by Roy Temple House.)

At last he dies in that shrill plastered cell -
He dies again, who died long years before,
Like the young fruit that rotted round the core,
But clung a time and withered, ere it fell.
Who knows what tales the ashy lips could tell
Had they but spoken when the dull eyes wore
A dreamy ecstasy that comes no more,
Or his ears beat to some far battle swell?
His life was like a bell whose tone is thin
And false and broken, since the fatal day
When the brute casters riveled at the inn.
Now all the dissonance has died away:
His ear is careless of the mad-house din,
His dust is quiet, and his soul is gay.

France, the laboratory of freedom.

Like Brand I will not compromise but unlike him this applies to
myself as well as to the others. I will live out my life as it is
giving in neither way in order to gain success. I will rather be
true to life than to any ideal or rather I will make life the ideal.
To be specific: I will not give up a wife, I will not give up children
for the sake of art let us say. That were a compromise in respect of
life. It is a compromise to acknowledge an incapacity to know and live
through all in contrast, to hold marriage in abeyance.

This is the answer to Brand in this formula.

Go dump your pail of wonder in the Rhine."

(With captions such as this group the fragments.)

An old woman, who was mad
Lives in her house
With two starry children!
Who are nothing to her.
In and out run cats and their
Young about her.

(Print these tatters in small or type.)

The red shadow of a large ear on a pink neck.

Your beauty has become to me -
God knows what your beauty has become to me -
Torture perhaps !

Cold is very disagreeable but it's clean. When you are hot you are
dirty.

I have no fault to find with life except that it is utterly contempt
able.

The clouds we almost reach when the winds lull.

Leipzig! Leipzig! Where the grass is swept with brooms
And roses bloom until December in the public parks!

A man must be unhealthy for progress. Disintegration must set in before there can be readjustment.

God be lauded that I possess you

Ah God that I shall never see you again!

Patience is a filthy tree with roots in the air and branches and reaves underground.

Love is a pied mosaic.

See the birdies there! See them! Taking their breakfast. They stuff themselves! (Deep breath.) They always breathe the fresh air - so fresh all the time. But some die in the winter - dont you think so? They freeze.

You, yourself are too hard. Always remember that teacher - that S Spaniard - he was a painter. (Taking up a plate.) You would bring him a drawing:

(Mimics with the plate.) Bien, muy bien! Um, a little out of proportion here: and here too dark -" and he would finish by saying the whole thing was wrong. But it was always: "Bien, muy bien!" just the same.

Cardinal de Retz:

"Well you see he was still young, he still had many true thoughts. Afterward they get mixed up in politics."

Mr. P. has three remedies and he'll live just as long as any one else: salt, kerosene and cod liver oil.

Art is the maturity of the adventure of love.

The purgative effect of tragedy lies in the boinging down of all that is high and the raising up of all that is low to one common ground of helplessness. It is always enobling to him who has the forces of truth in his heart and sees the miserliness of men, impudent and safe.