The true self is not aware that it is a self. A bird, as it sings, sings itself. But not according to a picture. It has no idea of itself.

Life and love are life and love, a bunch of violets is a bunch of violets, and to drag in the idea of a point is to ruin everything. Live and let live, love and let love, flower and fade, and follow the natural curve, which flows on, pointless.

Morality which is based on ideas, or on an ideal, is an unmitigated evil.

How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene and dead ideas become obsessions.