Psalm 36 (Mother Maria, trans.)

An oracle for the impious
Is the sin in the deep of his heart.
He regards himself
With an eye too flattering
To discover his guilt
And hate his transgression.

Perfidy and misdeed
He plots upon his bed,
He sets his steps
Upon an evil course,
Heedless of his sin.

The words of his mouth
Are fraud and deceit,
He can no more act
Wisely or well.

There, see how the wicked are fallen,
They can rise no more.

On the Study of Philosophers (Mother Maria)

While in Preles, I swallowed the whole of Descartes, so to speak–in one go, and now I am chewing him.  It is always the same, I simply have to give myself to a philosopher with my whole being, without any reserve, and slowly creep away from him again.  Not a bad way, but certainly somewhat exhausting.

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