You imagine that what you can’t understand is either spiritual or does not exist. The conclusion is quite wrong; rather there are obviously a million things in the universe that we would need a million quite different organs to understand … someone blind from birth cannot imagine the beauty of a landscape, the colors of a painting or the shadings of an iris. He will imagine them as something palpable, edible, audible or olfactory. Likewise, if I were to explain to you what I perceive by the senses you do not have, you would interpret it as something that could be heard, seen, touched, smelled or tasted; but it is not like that.
Lei è un pericolo mortale senza volerlo, dolcissimo senza saperlo – una trappola della natura, una rosa moscata nei cui petali l’amore tende agguati! Chi conosce il suo sorriso ha conosciuto la perfezione. Riesce a fare della grazia con un niente, a trasfondere il senso del divino nel più insignificante dei suoi gesti. Venere non saprebbe scivolare in una vasca né Diana camminare attraverso i grandi boschi fioriti allo stesso modo in cui lei si siede su una sedia o passeggia per Parigi.
If it had been easy for Romeo to get to Juliet, nobody would have cared. Same goes for Cyrano and Don Quixote and Gatsby and their respective paramours. What captures the imagination is watching men throw themselves at a brick wall over and over again, and wondering if this is the time that they won’t be able to get back up.
A man contains all that is needed to make up a tree; likewise, a tree contains all that is needed to make up a man. Thus, finally, all things meet in all things, but we need a Prometheus to distill it.