Consciousness is an end in itself. We torture ourselves getting somewhere, and when we get there it is nowhere, for there is nowhere to get to.
It is our business to go as we are impelled.
The human consciousness is really homogeneous. There is no complete forgetting, even in death.
Men always do leave off really thinking, when the last bit of wild animal dies in them.
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.
Having achieved and accomplished love... man... has become himself, his tale is told.