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Imagine For A Moment That Each One Of Us Takes Only A Little More Care For Each Hour Of His Days, That He Demands In It A Little More Of Elegance And Intensity; Then, Multiplying All These Minute Pressures Toward The Perfecting And Deepening Of Each Life By All The Others, Calculate For Yourselves The Gigantic Enrichment, The Fabulous Ennobling Which This Process Would Create For Human Society.

-Jose Ortega Y Gasset

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Imagine For A Moment

Jose Ortega Y Gasset

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Imagine For A Moment That Each One Of Us Takes Only A Little More Care For Each Hour Of His Days, That He Demands In It A Little More Of Elegance And Intensity; Then, Multiplying All These Minute Pressures Toward The Perfecting And Deepening Of Each Life By All The Others, Calculate For Yourselves The Gigantic Enrichment, The Fabulous Ennobling Which This Process Would Create For Human Society.

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Man Must Not Only Make Himself: The Weightiest Thing He Has To Do Is To Determine What He Is Going To Be. He Is Causa Sui To The Second Power.

The Man Who Discovers A New Scientific Truth Has Previously Had To Smash To Atoms Almost Everything He Had Learnt, And Arrives At The New Truth With Hands Blood Stained From The Slaughter Of A Thousand Platitudes.

Rancor Is An Outpouring Of A Feeling Of Inferiority.

What, By A Word Lacking Even In Grammar, Is Called Amorality, Is A Thing That Does Not Exist. If You Are Unwilling To Submit To Any Norm, You Have, Nolens Volens , To Submit To The Norm Of Denying All Morality, And This Is Not Amoral, But Immoral. It Is A Negative Morality Which Preserves The Empty Form Of The Other.

Human Vitality Is So Exuberant That In The Sorriest Desert It Still Finds A Pretext For Glowing And Trembling.

Civilization Is Nothing Else But The Attempt To Reduce Force To Being The Last Resort.

The Good Is, Like Nature, An Immense Landscape In Which Man Advances Through Centuries Of Exploration.

A Revolution Only Lasts Fifteen Years, A Period Which Coincides With The Effectiveness Of A Generation.

Man In A Word Has No Nature; What He Has... Is History.

Tell Me To What You Pay Attention And I Will Tell You Who You Are.

All Life Is The Struggle, The Effort To Be Itself.

Here, Then, Is The Point At Which I See The New Mission Of The Librarian Rise Up Incomparably Higher Than All Those Preceding. Up Until The Present, The Librarian Has Been Principally Occupied With The Book As A Thing, As A Material Object. From Now On He Must Give His Attention To The Book As A Living Function. He Must Become A Policeman, Master Of The Raging Book.

Life Is An Operation Which Is Done In A Forward Direction. One Lives Toward The Future, Because To Live Consists Inexorably In Doing, In Each Individual Life Making Itself.

Biography - A System In Which The Contradictions Of A Human Life Are Unified.

On The Bigotry Of Culture: : It Presented Us With Culture, With Thought As Something Justified In Itself, That Is, Which Requires No Justification But Is Valid By It's Own Essence, Whatever Its Concrete Employment And Content Maybe. Human Life Was To Put Itself At The Service Of Culture Because Only Thus Would It Become Charged With Value. From Which It Would Follow That Human Life, Our Pure Existence Was, In Itself, A Mean And Worthless Thing.

Every Life Is, More Or Less, A Ruin Among Whose Debris We Have To Discover What The Person Ought To Have Been.

This Fighting-shy Of Every Obligation Partly Explains The Phenomenon, Half Ridiculous, Half Disgraceful, Of The Setting-up In Our Days Of The Platform Of "youth" As Youth. ... In Comic Fashion People Call Themselves "young," Because They Have Heard That Youth Has More Rights Than Obligations, Since It Can Put Off The Fulfilment Of These Latter To The Greek Kalends Of Maturity. ...[t]he Astounding Thing At Present Is That These Take It As An Effective Right Precisely In Order To Claim For Themselves All Those Other Rights Which Only Belong To The Man Who Has Already Done Something.

Today Violence Is The Rhetoric Of The Period.

Whether He Be An Original Or A Plagiarist, Man Is The Novelist Of Himself.

We Fall In Love When Our Imagination Projects Nonexistent Perfection Upon Another Person. One Day, The Fantasy Evaporates And With It, Love Dies.

Falling In Love

We Do Not Live To Think, But, On The Contrary, We Think In Order That We May Succeed In Surviving.

The Most Radical Division That It Is Possible To Make Of Humanity Is That Which Splits It Into Two Classes Of Creatures: Those Who Make Great Demands On Themselves, Piling Up Difficulties And Duties; And Those Who Demand Nothing Special Of Themselves, But For Whom To Live Is To Be Every Moment What They Already Are, Without Imposing On Themselves Any Effort Towards Perfection, Mere Buoys That Float On The Waves.

With Morality We Correct The Mistakes Of Our Instincts, And With Love We Correct The Mistakes Of Our Morals.

In This Initial Illimitableness Of Possibilities That Characterizes One Who Has No Nature There Stands Out Only One Fixed, Pre-established, And Given Line By Which He May Chart His Course, Only One Limit: The Past.

Commonplaces Are The Tramways Of Intellectual Transportation.

I Am I Plus My Surroundings; And If I Do Not Preserve The Latter, I Do Not Preserve Myself.

It Is Not Obligatory For A Generation To Have Great Men.

Strictly Speaking, The Mass, As A Psychological Fact, Can Be Defined Without Waiting For Individuals To Appear In Mass Formation. In The Presence Of One Individual We Can Decide Whether He Is "mass" Or Not. The Mass Is All That Which Sets No Value On Itself Good Or Ill Based On Specific Grounds, But Which Feels Itself "just Like Everybody," And Nevertheless Is Not Concerned About It; Is, In Fact, Quite Happy To Feel Itself As One With Everybody Else.

He Who Wishes To Teach Us A Truth Should Not Tell It To Us, But Simply Suggest It With A Brief Gesture, A Gesture Which Starts An Ideal Trajectory In The Air Along Which We Glide Until We Find Ourselves At The Feet Of The New Truth.

The Tapestry Of History That Seems So Full Of Tragedy When Viewed From The Front Has Countless Comic Scenes Woven Into Its Reverse Side. In Truth, Tragedy And Comedy Are The Twin Masks Of History - Its Mass Appeal.

Living Is Nothing More Or Less Than Doing One Thing Instead Of Another.

Barbarism Is The Absence Of Standards To Which Appeal Can Be Made.

Liberalism Is That Principle Of Political Rights, According To Which The Public Authority, In Spite Of Being All-powerful, Limits Itself And Attempts, Even At Ist Own Expense, To Leave Room In The State Over Which It Rules For Those To Live Who Neither Think Nor Feel As It Does, That Is To Say As Do The Stronger, The Majority.

The Real Magic Wand Is The Child's Own Mind.

To Be Free Means To Be Lacking In Constitutive Identity...

Poetry Has Become The Higher Algebra Of Metaphors.

Liberalism... Is The Noblest Cry That Has Ever Resounded In This Planet.

The Assurance That We Have No Means Of Answering [final] Questions Is No Valid Excuse For Callousness Towards Them. The More Deeply Should We Feel, Down To The Roots Of Our Being, Their Pressure And Their Sting. Whose Hunger Has Ever Been [sated] With The Knowledge That He Could Not Eat?

Excellence Means When A Man Or Woman Asks Of Himself More Than Others Do.

Life, Individual Or Collective, Personal Or Historic, Is The One Entity In The Universe Whose Substance Is Compact Of Danger, Of Adventure. It Is, In The Strict Sense Of The Word, Drama. The Primary, Radical Meaning Of Life Appears When It Is Employed In The Sense Not Of Biology, But Of Biography. For The Very Strong Reason That The Whole Of Biology Is Quite Definitely Only A Chapter In Certain Biographies, It Is What Biologists Do In The Portion Of Their Lives Open To Biography.

Abasement, Degradation Is Simply The Manner Of Life Of The Man Who Has Refused To Be What It Is His Duty To Be.

I Have Always Thought That Clarity Is A Form Of Courtesy That The Philosopher Owes; Moreover, This Discipline Of Ours Considers It More Truly A Matter Of Honor Today Than Ever Before To Be Open To All Minds ... This Is Different From The Individual Sciences Which Increasingly [interpose] Between The Treasure Of Their Discoveries And The Curiosity Of The Profane The Tremendous Dragon Of Their Closed Terminology.

The Nineteenth Century, Utilitarian Throughout, Set Up A Utilitarian Interpretation Of The Phenomenon Of Life Which Has Come Down To Us And May Still Be Considered As The Commonplace Of Everyday Thinking. ... An Innate Blindness Seems To Have Closed The Eyes Of This Epoch To All But Those Facts Which Show Life As A Phenomenon Of Utility

The People With The Clear Heads Are The Ones Who Look Life In The Face, Realize That Everything In It Is Problematic, And Feel Themselves Lost. And This Is The Simple Truth: That To Live Is To Feel Oneself Lost. Those Who Accept It Have Already Begun To Find Themselves, To Be On Firm Ground.

Thinking Is The Desire To Gain Reality By Means Of Ideas.

To Learn English You Must Begin By Thrusting The Jaw Forward, Almost Clenching The Teeth, And Practically Immbilizing The Lips. In This Way The English Produce The Series Of Unpleasant Little Mews Of Which Their Language Consists.

In These Years We Are Witnessing The Gigantic Spectacle Of Innumerable Human Lives Wandering About Lost In Their Own Labyrinths, Through Not Having Anything To Which To Give Themselves.

The Surrealist Thinks He Has Outstripped The Whole Of Literary History When He Has Written (here A Word That There Is No Need To Write) Where Others Have Written "jasmines, Swans And Fauns." But What He Has Really Done Has Been Simply To Bring To Light Another Form Of Rhetoric Which Hitherto Lay Hidden In The Latrines.

The Direction Of Society Has Been Taken Over By A Type Of Man Who Is Not Interested In The Principles Of Civilisation. Not Of This Or That Civilisation But From What We Can Judge Today Of Any Civilisation. The Type Of Man Dominant Today Is A Primitive One, A Naturmensch Rising Up In The Midst Of A Civilised World.

The World Is The Sum-total Of Our Vital Possibilities.

The Metaphor Is Perhaps One Of Man's Most Fruitful Potentialities. Its Efficacy Verges On Magic, And It Seems A Tool For Creation Which God Forgot Inside One Of His Creatures When He Made Him.

Life Is A Series Of Collisions With The Future; It Is Not The Sum Of What We Have Been, But What We Yearn To Be.

I Do Not Deny That There May Be Other Well-founded Causes For The Hatred Which Various Classes Feel Toward Politicians, But The Main One Seems To Me That Politicians Are Symbols Of The Fact That Every Class Must Take Every Other Class Into Account.

Man Is A Substantial Emigrant On A Pilgrimage Of Being, And It Is Accordingly Meaningless To Set Limits To What He Is Capable Of Being.

The Trend Towards Pure Art Betrays Not Arrogance, As Is Often Thought, But Modesty. Art That Has Rid Itself Of Human Pathos Is A Thing Without Consequence.

The Hunter Who Accepts The Sporting Code Of Ethics Keeps His Commandments In The Greatest Solitude, With No Witness Or Audience Other Than The Sharp Peaks Of The Mountain, The Roaming Cloud, The Stern Oak, The Trembling Juniper, And The Passing Animal.

The Choice Of A Point Of View Is The Initial Act Of A Culture.

The Preoccupation With What Should Be Is Estimable Only When The Respect For What Is Has Been Exhausted.

Revolution Is Not The Uprising Against Preexisting Order, But The Setting Up Of A New Order Contradictory To The Traditional One

These Are The Only Genuine Ideas, The Ideas Of The Shipwrecked. All The Rest Is Rhetoric, Posturing, Farce.

The Cynic, A Parasite Of Civilization, Lives By Denying It, For The Very Reason That He Is Convinced That It Will Not Fail.

The Poet Begins Where The Man Ends. The Man's Lot Is To Live His Human Life, The Poet's To Invent What Is Nonexistent.

When You Are Fed Up With The Troublesome Present, You Take Your Gun, Whistle For Your Dog, Go Out To The Mountain, And, Without Further Ado, Give Yourself The Pleasure During A Few Hours Or A Few Days Of Being "paleolithic."

To Wonder Is To Begin To Understand.

History Is The Science Of People.

The Essence Of Man Is, Discontent, Divine Discontent; A Sort Of Love Without A Beloved, The Ache We Feel In A Member We No Longer Have.

The Well Being Of Democracies Regardless Of Their Type And Status Is Dependent On One Small Technical Detail: The Right To Vote. Everything Else Is Secondary.

A Fascinating Mystery Of Nature Is Manifested In The Universal Fact Of Hunting: The Inexorable Hierarchy Among Living Beings. Every Animal Is In A Relationship Of Superiority Or Inferiority With Regard To Every Other. Strict Equality Is Exceedingly Improbable And Anomalous.

We Have Not Reached Ethical Perfection In Hunting. One Never Achieves Perfection In Anything, And Perhaps It Exists Precisely So That One Can Never Achieve It. Its Purpose Is To Orient Our Conduct And To Allow Us To Measure The Progress Accomplished. In This Sense, The Advancement Achieved In The Ethics Of Hunting Is Undeniable.

Men Play At Tragedy Because They Do Not Believe In The Reality Of The Tragedy Which Is Actually Being Staged In The Civilised World

One Age Cannot Be Completely Understood If All The Others Are Not Understood. The Song Of History Can Only Be Sung As A Whole.

For The Person For Whom Small Things Do Not Exist, The Great Is Not Great.

The Difficulties Which I Meet With In Order To Realize My Existence Are Precisely What Awaken And Mobilize My Activities, My Capacities.

In Our Rather Stupid Time, Hunting Is Belittled And Misunderstood, Many Refusing To See It For The Vital Vacation From The Human Condition That It Is, Or To Acknowledge That The Hunter Does Not Hunt In Order To Kill; On The Contrary, He Kills In Order To Have Hunted.

There Are, Above All, Times In Which The Human Reality, Always Mobile, Accelerates, And Bursts Into Vertiginous Speeds. Our Time Is Such A One, For It Is Made Of Descent And Fall.

The Form Most Contradictory To Human Life That Can Appear Among The Human Species Is The "self-satisfied Man."

The Librarian's Mission Should Be, Not Like Up To Now, A Mere Handling Of The Book As An Object, But Rather A Know How (mise Au Point) Of The Book As A Vital Function.

Man Is A Fugitive From Nature.

Life Is A Struggle With Things To Maintain Itself Among Them. Concepts Are The Strategic Plan We Form In Answer To The Attack.

Being An Artist Means Ceasing To Take Seriously That Very Serious Person We Are When We Are Not An Artist.

The Characteristic Of The Hour Is That The Commonplace Mind, Knowing Itself To Be Commonplace, Has The Assurance To Proclaim The Rights Of The Commonplace And To Impose Them Wherever It Will.

Imagine For A Moment That Each One Of Us Takes Only A Little More Care For Each Hour Of His Days, That He Demands In It A Little More Of Elegance And Intensity; Then, Multiplying All These Minute Pressures Toward The Perfecting And Deepening Of Each Life By All The Others, Calculate For Yourselves The Gigantic Enrichment, The Fabulous Ennobling Which This Process Would Create For Human Society.

[t]he Mass-man Sees In The State An Anonymous Power, And Feeling Himself, Like It, Anonymous, He Believes That The State Is Something Of His Own. Suppose That In The Public Life Of A Country Some Difficulty, Conflict, Or Problem Presents Itself, The Mass-man Will Tend To Demand That The State Intervene Immediately And Undertake A Solution Directly With Its Immense And Unassailable Resources. This Is The Gravest Danger That To-day Threatens Civilisation: State Intervention; The Absorption Of All Spontaneous Social Effort By The State.

An Idea Is A Putting Truth In Check-mate.

This Leads Us To Note Down In Our Psychological Chart Of The Mass-man Of Today Two Fundamental Traits: The Free Expansion Of His Vital Desires, And, Therefore, Of His Personality; And His Radical Ingratitude Towards All That Has Made Possible The Ease Of His Existence. These Traits Together Make Up The Well-known Psychology Of The Spoilt Child.

Liberalism -- It Is Well To Recall This Today -- Is The Supreme Form Of Generosity; It Is The Right Which The Majority Concedes To Minorities And Hence It Is The Noblest Cry That Has Ever Resounded In This Planet. It Announces The Determination To Share Existence With The Enemy; More Than That, With An Enemy Which Is Weak.

Living Is A Constant Process Of Deciding What We Are Going To Do.

Life Is The External Text, The Burning Bush By The Edge Of The Path From Which God Speaks.

Nobility Is Defined By The Demands It Makes On Us - By Obligations, Not By Rights. Noblesse Oblige. 'to Live As One Likes Is Plebeian; The Noble Man Aspires To Order And Law.'

Since Love Is The Most Delicate And Total Act Of A Soul, It Will Reflect The State And Nature Of The Soul.

Hating Someone Is Feeling Irritation By Their Mere Existence.

Better Beware Of Notions Like Genius And Inspiration; They Are A Sort Of Magic Wand And Should Be Used Sparingly By Anybody Who Wants To See Things Clearly.

All We Are Given Is Possibilities — To Make Ourselves One Thing Or Another.

Law Is Born From Despair Of Human Nature.

I Think That The Philosopher Must, For His Own Purposes, Carry Methodological Strictness To An Extreme When He Is Investigating And Pursuing His Truths, But When He Is Ready To Enunciate Them And Give Them Out, He Ought To Avoid The Cynical Skill With Which Some Scientists, Like A Hercules At The Fair, Amuse Themselves By Displaying To The Public The Biceps Of Their Technique.

The Metaphor Is Perhaps One Of Man's Most Fruitful Potentialities. Its Efficacy Verges On Magic, And It Seems A Tool For Creation Which God Forgot Inside One Of His Creatures When He Made Him. All Our Faculties Keep Us Within The Realm Of The Real, Of What Is Already There. The Most We Can Do Is To Combine Things Or Break Them Up. The Metaphor Alone Furnishes An Escape; Between The Real Things, It Lets Emerge Imaginary Reefs, A Crop Of Floating Islands.

And This Is The Simple Truth - That To Live Is To Feel Oneself Lost. He Who Accepts It Has Already Begun To Find Himself To Be On Firm Ground.

To Live Is To Feel Oneself Lost.

To Be Surprised, To Wonder, Is To Begin To Understand. This Is The Sport, The Luxury, Special To The Intellectual Man.

We Cannot Put Off Living Until We Are Ready.

Inspirational Life

We Cannot Put Off Living Until We Are Ready. The Most Salient Characteristic Of Life Is Its Urgency, 'here And Now' Without Any Possible Postponement. Life Is Fired At Us Point-blank.

Tragedy In The Theater Opens Our Eyes So That We Can Discover And Appreciate The Heroic In Reality.

Romantic Poses Aside, Let Us Recognize That "falling In Love"...is An Inferior State Of Mind, A Form Of Transitory Imbecility.

Falling In Love

The Struggle With The Past Is Not A Hand-to-hand Fight. The Future Overcomes It By Swallowing It. If It Leaves Anything Outside It Is Lost.

The Person Portrayed And The Portrait Are Two Entirely Different Things.

Whoever Has Not Felt The Danger Of Our Times Palpitating Under His Hand, Has Not Really Penetrated To The Vitals Of Destiny, He Has Merely Pricked The Surface.

The Mass Believes That It Has The Right To Impose And To Give Force Of Law To Notions Born In The Café.

Hatred Is A Feeling Which Leads To The Extinction Of Values.

Man Has To Live With The Body And Soul Which Have Fallen To Him By Chance.

The Common Man, Finding Himself In A World So Excellent, Technically And Socially, Believes It Has Been Produced By Nature, And Never Thinks Of The Personal Efforts Of Highly Endowed Individuals Which The Creation Of This New World Presupposed. Still Less Will He Admit The Notion That All These Facilities Still Require The Support Of Certain Difficult Human Virtues, The Least Failure Of Which Would Cause The Rapid Disappearance Of The Whole Magnificent Edifice.

In Their Choice Of Lovers Both The Male And The Female Reveal Their Essential Nature. The Type Of Human Being We Prefer Reveals The Contours Of Our Heart. Love Is An Impulse Which Springs From The Most Profound Depths Of Our Beings, And Upon Reaching The Visible Surface Of Life Carries With It An Alluvium Of Shells And Seaweed From The Inner Abyss. A Skilled Naturalist, By Filing These Materials, Can Reconstruct The Oceanic Depths From Which They Have Been Uprooted.

"natural" Man Is Always There, Under The Changeable Historical Man. We Call Him And He Comes-a Little Sleepy, Benumbed, Without His Lost Form Of Instinctive Hunter, But, After All, Still Alive. Natural Man Is First Prehistoric Man-the Hunter.

Man Adapts Himself To Everything, To The Best And The Worst.

I Am I Plus My Circumstances.

Our Firmest Convictions Are Apt To Be The Most Suspect; They Mark Our Limitations And Our Bounds. Life Is A Petty Thing Unless It Is Moved By The Indomitable Urge To Extend Its Boundaries.

I Have Never Said That Human Society Ought To Be Aristocratic, But A Great Deal More Than That. What I Have Said, And Still Believe With Ever-increasing Conviction, Is That Human Society Is Always, Whether It Will Or No, Aristocratic By Its Very Essence, To The Extreme That It Is A Society In The Measure That It Is Aristocratic, And Ceases To Be Such When It Ceases To Be Aristocratic. Of Course I Am Speaking Now Of Society And Not Of The State.

Thought Is Not A Gift To Man But A Laborious, Precarious And Volatile Acquisition.

There Are People Who So Arrange Their Lives That They Feed Themselves Only On Side Dishes.

There May Be As Much Nobility In Being Last As In Being First, Because The Two Positions Are Equally Necessary In The World, The One To Complement The Other.

If The Human Intellect Functions, It Is Actually In Order To Solve The Problems Which The Man's Inner Destiny Sets It.

The Individual Point Of View Is The Only Point Of View From Which One Is Able To Look At The World In Its Truth.

Man's Being Is Made Of Such Strange Stuff As To Be Partly Akin To Nature And Partly Not, At Once Natural And Extranatural, A Kind Of Ontological Centaur, Half Immersed In Nature, Half Transcending It.

The Metaphor Is Probably The Most Fertile Power Possessed By Man

Life Is A Series Of Collisions With The Future.

The Hero's Will Is Not That Of His Ancestors Nor Of His Society, But His Own. This Will To Be Oneself Is Heroism.

There Is But One Way Left To Save A Classic; To Give Up Revering Him And Use Him For Our Own Salvation.

Were Art To Redeem Man, It Could Do So Only By Saving Him From The Seriousness Of Life And Restoring Him To An Unexpected Boyishness. The Symbol Of Art Is Seen Again In The Magic Flute Of The Great God Pan Which Makes The Young Goats Frisk At The Edge Of The Grove. All Modern Art Begins To Appear Comprehensible And In A Way Great When It Is Interpreted As An Attempt To Instill Youthfulness Into An Ancient World.

We Live At A Time When Man Believes Himself Fabulously Capable Of Creation, But He Does Not Know What To Create.

The Heart Of Man Does Not Tolerate An Absence Of The Excellent And Supreme.

That Marxism Should Triumph In Russia, Where There Is No Industry, Would Be The Greatest Contradiction That Marxism Could Undergo. But There Is No Such Contradiction, For There Is No Such Triumph. Russia Is Marxist More Or Less As The Germans Of The Holy Roman Empire Were Romans.

Meditation On Any Theme, If Positive And Honest, Inevitably Separates Him Who Does The Meditating From The Opinion Prevailing Around Him, From That Which Can Be Called "public" Or "popular" Opinion.

The Masses Think That Is Is Easy To Flee From Reality, When It Is The Most Difficult Thing In The World.

Life Is A Terrible Conflict, A Grandiose And Atrocious Confluence. Hunting Submerges Man Deliberately In That Formidable Mystery And Therefore Contains Something Of Religious Rite And Emotion In Which Homage Is Paid To What Is Divine, Transcendent, And In The Laws Of Nature.

Life Means To Have Something Definite To Do-a Mission To Fulfill-and In The Measure In Which We Avoid Setting Our Life To Something, We Make It Empty. Human Life, By Its Very Nature, Has To Be Dedicated To Something.

Life Is Fired At Us Point Blank.

Poetry Is Adolescence Fermented, And Thus Preserved.

Triumph Cannot Help Being Cruel.

In Order To Master The Unruly Torrent Of Life The Learned Man Meditates, The Poet Quivers, And The Political Hero Erects The Fortress Of His Will.

The History Of The Roman Empire Is Also The History Of The Uprising Of The Empire Of The Masses, Who Absorb And Annul The Directing Minorities And Put Themselves In Their Place. Then, Also, Is Produced The Phenomenon Of Agglomeration, Of "the Full." For That Reason, As Spengler Has Very Well Observed, It Was Necessary, Just As In Our Day, To Construct Enormous Buildings. The Epoch Of The Masses Is The Epoch Of The Colossal.

Beliefs Constitute The Basic Stratum, That Which Lies Deepest, In The Architecture Of Our Life. By Them We Live, And By The Same Token We Rarely Think Of Them.... One May Symbolize The Individual Life As A Bank Of Issue. The Bank Lives On The Credit Of A Gold Reserve Which Is Rarely Seen, Which Lies At The Bottom Of Metal Coffers Hidden In The Vaults Of The Building. The Most Elementary Caution Will Suggest That From Time To Time The Effective Condition Of These Guaranties--of These Credences, One Might Say, That Are The Basis Of Credit--be Passed In Review.

Effort Is Only Effort When It Begins To Hurt.

He [the "specialist"] Is One Who, Out Of All That Has To Be Known In Order To Be A Man Of Judgment, Is Only Acquainted With One Science, And Even Of That One Only Knows The Small Corner In Which He Is An Active Investigator. He Even Proclaims It As A Virtue That He Takes No Cognisance Of What Lies Outside The Narrow Territory Specially Cultivated By Himself, And Gives The Name Of "dilettantism" To Any Curiosity For The General Scheme Of Knowledge.

We Distinguish The Excellent Man From The Common Man By Saying That The Former Is The One Who Makes Great Demands On Himself, And The Latter Who Makes No Demands On Himself.

By Speaking, By Thinking, We Undertake To Clarify Things, And That Forces Us To Exacerbate Them, Dislocate Them, Schematize Them. Every Concept Is In Itself An Exaggeration.

Exaggeration Is

It Would Be A Piece Of Ingenuousness To Accuse The Man Of Today Of His Lack Of Moral Code. The Accusation Would Leave Him Cold, Or Rather, Would Flatter Him. Immoralism Has Become A Commonplace, And Anybody And Everybody Boasts Of Practising It.

Every Intellectual Effort Sets Us Apart From The Commonplace, And Leads Us By Hidden And Difficult Paths To Secluded Spots Where We Find Ourselves Amid Unaccustomed Thoughts.

What Makes A Nation Great Is Not Primarily Its Great Men, But The Stature Of Its Innumerable Mediocre Ones.

To Rule Is Not So Much A Question Of The Heavy Hand As The Firm Seat.

There Is No Doubt; Even A Rejection Can Be The Shadow Of A Caress”.

We Need To Study The Whole Of History, Not To Fall Back Into It, But To See If We Can Escape From It.

[i]t Is Necessary To Insist Upon This Extraordinary But Undeniable Fact: Experimental Science Has Progressed Thanks In Great Part To The Work Of Men Astoundingly Mediocre, And Even Less Than Mediocre. That Is To Say, Modern Science, The Root And Symbol Of Our Actual Civilization, Finds A Place For The Intellectually Commonplace Man And Allows Him To Work Therein With Success.

The Hunter Is The Alert Man. But This Itself-life As Complete Alertness-is The Attitude In Which The Animal Exists In The Jungle.

This Is The Gravest Danger That Today Threatens Civilization: State Intervention; The Absorption Of All Spontaneous Social Effort By The State, That Is To Say, Of Spontaneous Historical Action, Which In The Long Run Sustains, Nourishes, And Impels Human Destinies.

The Past Will Not Tell Us What We Ought To Do, But... What We Ought To Avoid.

Love Is That Splendid Triggering Of Human Vitality The Supreme Activity Which Nature Affords Anyone For Going Out Of Himself Toward Someone Else.

Towns Are Full Of People, Houses Full Of Tenants, Hotels Full Of Guests, Trains Full Of Travelers, Cafés Full Of Customers, Parks Full Of Promenaders, Consulting-rooms Of Famous Doctors Full Of Patients, Theatres Full Of Spectators, And Beaches Full Of Bathers. What Previously Was, In General, No Problem, Now Begins To Be An Everyday One, Namely, To Find Room.

Why Write If This Too Easy Activity Of Pushing A Pen Across Paper Is Not Given A Certain Bullfighting Risk And We Do Not Approach Dangerous, Agile And Two-horned Topics?

To Write Well Consists Of Continuously Making Small Erosions, Wearing Away Grammar In Its Established Form, Current Norms Of Language. It Is An Act Of Permanent Rebellion And Subversion Against Social Environs.

Stupefaction, When It Persists, Becomes Stupidity.

Love Is Exclusivity, Selection.

Order Is Not Pressure Which Is Imposed On Society From Without, But An Equilibrium Which Is Set Up From Within.

Civilization Is Nothing More Than The Effort To Reduce The Use Of Force To The Last Resort.

The Truth Is That No Horizon Is Especially Interesting By Itself, By Virtue Of Its Peculiar Content, And That Any Horizon, Wide Or Narrow, Brilliant Or Dull, Varied Or Monotonous, May Possess An Interest Of Its Own Which Merely Requires A Vital Adjustment To Be Discovered.

An 'unemployed' Existence Is A Worse Negation Of Life Than Death Itself.

Under The Species Of Syndicalism And Fascism There Appears For The First Time In Europe A Type Of Man Who Does Not Want To Give Reasons Or To Be Right, But Simply Shows Himself Resolved To Impose His Opinions.

I Am Myself And What Is Around Me, And If I Do Not Save It, It Shall Not Save Me.

The Type Of Human Being We Prefer Reveals The Contours Of Our Heart.

I Am Free By Compulsion, Whether I Wish To Be Or Not.

The Will To Be Oneself Is Heroism

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