creation.

With everlasting immutable symmetry both strive in different ways to
get near to the Infinite and to escape from it. With light but sure
advances the Indefinite expands its native wish from the beautiful
centre of Finiteness into the boundless. Complete Definiteness, on the
other hand, throws itself with a bold leap out of the blissful dream
of the infinite will into the limits of the finite deed, and by
self-refinement ever increases in magnanimous self-restraint and
beautiful self-sufficiency.

In this symmetry is also revealed the incredible humor with which
consistent Nature accomplishes her most universal and her most simple
antithesis. Even in the most delicate and most artistic organization
these comical points of the great All reveal themselves, like a
miniature, with roguish significance, and give to all individuality,
which exists only by them and by the seriousness of their play, its
final rounding and perfection.

Through this individuality and that allegory the bright ideal of witty
sensuality blooms forth from the striving after the Unconditioned.

Now everything is clear! Hence the omnipresence of the nameless,
unknown divinity. Nature herself wills the everlasting succession of
constantly repeated efforts; and she wills, too, that every individual
shall be complete, unique and new in himself--a true image of the
supreme, indivisible Individuality. Sinking deeper into this
Individuality, my Reflection took such an individual turn that it
presently began to cease and to forget itself.

"What point have all these allusions, which with senseless sense on
the outward boundaries of sensuality, or rather in the middle of it, I
will not say play, but contend with, each other?"

So you will surely ask, and so the good Juliana would ask, though no
doubt in different language.

Dear Beloved! Shall the nosegay contain only demure roses, quiet
forget-me-nots, modest violets and other maidenlike and childlike
flowers? May it not contain anything and everything that shines
strangely in wonderful glory?

Masculine awkwardness is a manifold thing, and rich in blossoms and
fruits of all kinds. Let the wonderful plant, which I will not name,
have its place. It will serve at least as a foil to the
bright-gleaming pomegranate and the yellow oranges. Or should there
be, perhaps, instead of this motley abundance, only one perfect
flower, which combines all the beauties of the rest and renders their
exist