1 We would find in a sublime calculus that nature is prodigal and our consciousness reticent. Perhaps the arduous labyrinth of our body...

Any theory that does not culminate in a law or in a demonstration is improbable, because all theories are conjectures about the nature of...

The forehead — The place of humans in Creation. Humans are a means, not an end. Human ends are, to the Divinity, only means. Thus, evil...

I Leaning on a streetlamp of Puerta del Sol, amused, he watches people go by. He's neither short nor tall, neither thin nor fat, neither...

Pelopia All that is left of honey is its viscous drift. The rustle of distant leaves is inaudible. The luxuriant hyacinths are as frigid...

It is high noon. He guides his horses to a holm oak. He is in no hurry. His brothers are scattered throughout the slopes of the mountain....

Euryanassa Each wave pursues its forebear without pause. She suspects pausing is the great solecism of humankind. Nature cascades,...

She focuses on the discreet dance of her blue drapery—on the rhythmic folding and unfolding, on the interspersed hints of evanescent...

There is a light warmth traveling through his body. It makes him sensible to the blades of grass that have gathered round his contour. A...

I confess that the contrarian spirit does not irritate me to the extent it does the generality of men. If a person always contradicts...

Saint Augustine corrects at a felicitous hour the heretical mistakes of his youth. But everything that was not ridiculous and puerile in...

Juan and Pedro reached the age in which it is necessary to work in order to live. Sons of workers, they had no opportunities to acquire a...

Sotavento: Isn’t this great proof that genius, or talent, or whatever you want to call it, can transform anything into art? The name in...

Sotavento: But the love angle is shoehorned. We can admit as much. He has to concede something to his audience, and that’s the easiest...

I love peace and solitude. I aspire to live in a spacious old house, where there is no other sound but that of a fountain. It will occupy...

It is a shame that those who know not how to write do so, and it is a bigger shame that those who could handle the pen fruitfully abandon...

In Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, a world-weary editor grapples with the manuscript remains of an eccentric professor. Slowly, he unearths an...

Reality presents itself as relentless movement. The accents of growth and decay leave an indelible imprint in their wake. Artistic and...

After the hostile and profoundly dispiriting reception of Pierre, a crooked genuflection to fashionable romances, Melville sought refuge...