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If the materialistic west is a civilisation without a heart, as we are accustomed to regard it nowadays, ours, on the other hand is one without a soul.
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Drama as an art is quite unspeakable, although some old plays are admirable as a form of vulgar amusement.
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When we come to poetry, we can't fancy a more poverty stricken predicament.
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Music is a paradise lost to us long long ago, perhaps never to be regained.
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My personal experience has only discovered two classes of people in China; Cynics who despise love and cowards who are afraid of it.
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And then there are those ninth grade followers of European methods, who are as puerile in technique as they are void in imagination.
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Our sages are preoccupied ... with the not very easy task of equilibrating and harmonising the obvious impulses that men share with their fellow beings, such as food and sex.
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Love, is transcendental and transfiguring, and being transfigured through that mysterious force, one's mortal eyes.