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485 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1933
And let the spirit lend its wit to the mute passions of the soul, let it celebrate the grave, call the past the sole source of life, and confess and expose itself as the evil zealot, as the murderous life-enslaving will – it remains, no matter how it presents itself, what it is: the messenger of warning, the principle of opposition, umbrage, and wandering, which stirs up within the breast of one individual, among all the great host of the lustily complacent, an uneasiness at our preternatural wretchedness, drives him out of the gates of the past and the given and into the extravagant adventure of uncertainty, and makes him like the stone that, once it has broken away and begins to roll, is destined to set in motion an ever-growing, rolling, incalculable cascade of events.
…lofty and panicky memories with the weight of a dream but from days long past, when in great fear for his life he had been awaiting yet another encounter with his desert-dwelling brother, whom he had tricked and who was doubtlessly thirsting for revenge. For he had so fervently longed for spiritual power that for the sake of a name he had wrestled with the extraordinary man who had attacked him. It was a heavy, terrible, and highly sensual dream of desperate sweetness, not something airy and transient that leaves no traces, but a dream so hot with body heat, so dense with reality that it had left behind a twofold lifelong legacy, like creatures of the sea stranded by the ebbing tide: first, the lameness in Jacob’s hip, in the hollow of his thigh, put out of joint by that extraordinary man, leaving him halt; and second, the name…
“If a man is easily content, then God is content for him as well and draws His hand of blessing from him.”