The boldness of the ego confronts kindness with hatred. Every compulsion of procreation Lust of the way should desire visibility. Becoming for the sake of showing, that gaze adds all that achieves. If the conscious being proves itself in itself, the labour of loss imagines itself in emptiness, longing for what has been found. Each away of the distant search, found in the exciting incomprehension. That fame, which befits the view of importance, delights in the sublimity of wonder. That alone draws little.
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