And yet is not mankind itself, pushing on its blind way, driven by a dream of its greatness and its power upon the dark paths of excessive cruelty and of excessive devotion. And what is the pursuit of truth, after all?
The question is not how to get cured, but how to live.
Woe to the man whose heart has not learned while young to hope, to love - and to put its trust in life.
The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.
Only in men's imagination does every truth find an effective and undeniable existence. Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.
How does one kill fear, I wonder? How do you shoot a specter through the heart, slash off its spectral head, take it by its spectral throat?