Philosophy (n.) leaps ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠ahead on tiny toeholds, winged by hope and intuition, while calculating reason lumbers behind looking for firmer footing.

Philosophy (n.) should ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠begin not in affliction but in the midst of good fortune, at the peak of maturity, springing from the ardent joy of victorious manhood.

Philosophy (n.) isolates ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠whoever draws a circle of self-sufficiency around himself still further — finally destroying him through that isolation.

Philosophy (n.) in ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a period of so-called liberal education without a unity of style remains the learned monologue of the lonely stroller.

Parmenides (n.) bred ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a bloodless kind of thinker — a spider at least wants blood from its victims; the Parmenidean philosopher hates most of all the blood of empirical reality, which he sacrificed.

Parmenides (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a truth-teller formed of ice rather than fire, pouring cold piercing light all around; Heraclitus gazes but does not peer, knows but does not calculate.

Parmenides (n.) fled ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the world not like the Hindu sages from its depravity: what astonishes is his feat's total lack of fragrance, colour, soul, blood and ethical warmth — in a Greek!

Parmenides (n.) having ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠found a principle remote from all human illusion, grasped the firm and awful hand of tautological truth about being and climbed down into the abyss of all things.

Heraclitus (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a star devoid of atmosphere: his eye, flaming toward its inward centre, looks outward dead and icy.

Heraclitus (n.) raised ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the curtain on the greatest of all dramas: the teaching of law in becoming and of play in necessity.

Heraclitus (n.) had ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a contempt for his critics that fits in a proverb: 'Dogs bark at everyone whom they do not recognize'; 'Donkeys prefer straw to gold.'

Heraclitus (n.) watching ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the games of noisy children was surely thinking what no other man had thought on such an occasion: the game of the great world-child Zeus.

The World (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the game Zeus plays — or, more concretely, the game of fire with itself; only so is the one at the same time the many.

The World (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a mixed drink which must constantly be stirred.

The World (n.) as ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠Kant enjoyed seeing it creates itself as a well-ordered totality, without arbitrary fictions, only by the impulse of ordered laws of motion, to the point of saying give me materiality and I shall build a world from it.

The World (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠called into being not by hybris but by the ever self-renewing impulse to play; the child throws its toys away and starts again in innocent caprice.

Being (n.) betrays ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its low empirical origin in its etymology: esse means 'to breathe' — man imagines other things exist by analogy with his own breathing.

Being (n.) that ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠truly is must be forever present: one cannot say of it that it was or that it will be, the existent cannot have come to be, and the existent is indivisible.

Being (n.) in ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the rigor mortis of its coldest and emptiest concept was where Parmenides fled from an over-abundant reality, not like Plato into the land of eternal ideas.

Being (n.) was ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠denied outright by Heraclitus: the one world shows nowhere a tarrying, an indestructibility, a bulwark in the stream.

Becoming (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠all there is: if you think you see land somewhere in the ocean of coming-to-be and passing away, that is the fault of your myopia, not of the nature of things.

Becoming (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the work of Aphrodite: desire weds the existent with the nonexistent; when desire is sated, hatred drives them apart — and man says, 'All things pass.'

Becoming (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not a moral but an aesthetic phenomenon — as if Anaxagoras pointed to Phidias before the cosmos as before the Parthenon.

Becoming (n.) so-called ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠is, for Anaxagoras, an elimination that presupposes a mixture, and the primal pell-mell must have been total and complete, applicable to the infinitely small.

A Philosopher (n.) walks ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠alone along a lonely street; the wall of his self-sufficiency must be built of diamonds, for everything and everyone is in league against him.

A Philosopher (n.) of ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the great kind has at his core a lack of consideration for what is here and now: he has hold of truth, and the wheel of time can roll where it will and never escape it.

A Philosopher (n.) elsewhere ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠is a chance wanderer, lonely in a hostile environment which he creeps past or attacks, but among the Greeks alone he is not an accident.

A Philosopher (n.) seeks ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠to hear within himself the echoes of the world symphony and re-project them as concepts — swelling into a macrocosm while coolly viewing himself as a mirror of the world.

A Philosophical system (n.) has ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠only one interest once refuted: the personal element, which alone is forever irrefutable.

A Philosophical system (n.) keeps ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠one irrefutable point even if wholly erroneous — personal mood, colour — as a plant tells you the soil it grew in.

A Philosophical system (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠wholly true only for its founder; for later philosophers one great mistake; for lesser minds a sum of errors and truths.

Anaximander (n.) passing ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠away is penance — things must return to their source according to necessity, paying for their injustices in accordance with the ordinance of time.

Anaximander (n.) lived ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠as he wrote, moving as if existence were a tragic drama in which he was born to play the hero; his fellow citizens honoured him by sending him off to lead a colony.

Anaximander (n.) saw ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠in the multiplicity of things a sum of injustices to be expiated — and with that he grasped the tangle of the profoundest problem in ethics.

Spirit (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠never mixed with matter but seizes it by free choice; the spirit now in animals, plants and men is the same quantity as a thousand years ago, only distributed differently.

Spirit (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a brain-product; Anaxagoras forgot the brain, its astonishing labyrinths, and decreed the 'spirit as such' — which, magnificently, had choice.

Spirit (n.) and ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠body, split apart by Parmenides when he wrenched the senses from abstraction, became the distinction that has lain on philosophy like a curse, especially since Plato.