The Delimitation of the Infinite
Angel
Meditations on Poetry
I continue to believe that I shall recover， that I may recover. I slept very well. No dreams or any other symptoms of disease. Dear O-90 will come tomorrow. Everything will again be ******， regular， and limited like a circle. I am not afraid of this word "limited." The work of the highest faculty of man， judgment， is always directed toward the constant limiting of the infinite， toward the breaking up of the infinite into comfortably digestible portions， differentials. This is what gives divine beauty to my vocation， mathematics. And it is exactly this beauty that that other female lacks. But this last thought of mine is only an accidental mental association.
These thoughts swarmed in my mind while I was listening to the regular， rhythmic sounds of the underground railway. Silently I followed the rhythm of its wheels and recited to myself R-’s verses （from the book which he gave me yesterday）， and I felt that behind me someone was leaning over my shoulder and looking at the open pages. I did not turn around but with the corner of my eye I noticed.pink ears， spread like wings， the double-curved... like me letter....It was he， but I did not want to disturb him. I feigned not to have noticed him. How he came in， I do not know. I did not see him when I got into the car.
This incident， insignificant in itself， had an especially good effect upon me； it invigorated me， I should say. It is pleasant to feel that somebody"s penetrating eye is watching you from behind your shoulder， lovingly guarding you from ****** the most minute mistake， from the most minute incorrect step. It may seem to you too sentimental， but I do see in all this the materialization of the dream of the ancients about a Guardian Angel. How many things， of which the ancients had only dreams， are materialized in our life！
At the moment when I became aware of the presence of the Guardian Angel behind me， I was enjoying a poem entitled "Happiness." I think I am not mistaken when I say that it is a piece of rare beauty and depth of thought. These are the first four lines：
Two times two—eternal lovers；
Inseparable in passion four...
Most flaming lovers in the world，
Eternally welded， two times two.
And the rest is in the same vein： on the wisdom and the eternal happiness of the multiplication table. Every poet is inevitably a Columbus. America existed before Columbus for ages， but only Columbus found it. The multiplication table existed before R-13 for ages， but only R-13 could find in the virginal forest of figures a new Eldorado. Is it not true？ Is there any happiness more wise and cloudless in this wonderful world？ Steel may rust. The ancient god created ancient man， i.e.， the man capable of mistakes；ergo， the ancient god himself made a mistake. The multiplication table is more wise and more absolute than the ancient god， for the multiplication table never （do you understand—never） makes mistakes！ There are no more fortunate and happy people than those who live according to the correct， eternal laws of the multiplication table. No hesitation！ No errors！ There is but one truth， and there is but one path to it； and that truth is： four， and that path is： two times two. Would it not seem preposterous for these happily multiplied twos suddenly to begin thinking of some foolish kind of *******？—i.e. （is it not clear？）， of a mistake？ It seems undeniable， axiomatic， that R-13 knows how to grasp the most fundamental， the most....
