Life creates itself in delirium and is undone in ennui.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
The thing about delirium is you think it's great, but it actually isn't.
Ennui is the echo in us of time tearing itself apart.
Life is an incurable disease.
A complete life may be one ending in so full an identification with the oneself that there is no self left to die.
What is of the nature of spirit and soul must be gleaned from facts belonging to the spirit and soul; we shall then know that in the living thinking which is liberated from the will, a life-germ has been discerned which passes through the gate of death, goes through the spiritual world after death, and afterwards returns again to earthly life.
Dementia resembles delirium in the same way an ultra-marathon resembles a dash across the street. Same basic components, vastly different scale. If you've run delirium's course once or twice in your life, try to imagine a version that never ends.
Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.
There is an afterlife. I am convinced of this.
It is not a life at all. It is a reticence, in three volumes.
The mind, in proportion as it is cut off from free communication with nature, with revelation, with God, with itself, loses its life, just as the body droops when debarred from the air and the cheering light from heaven.
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