One must die to life in order to be utterly a creator.
Because man loves and honors man as long as he is not able to judge him, and desire is a product of lacking knowledge.
No man remains quite what he was when he recognizes himself.
It could become much worse.
One could say that someone who does nothing but wait is like a glutton whose digestive system processes great masses of food without extracting any useful nourishment. One could go further and say that just as undigested food does not strengthen a man, time spent in waiting does not age him.
She was not a woman; but she was not a man either and therefore not a human being. A solemn angel of daring with parted lips and dilated nostrils, that is what she was, an unapproachable Amazon of the realms of space beneath the canvas, high above the crowd, whose lust for her was transformed into awe.