Truth, Like Light, Is Blinding.

Death Means Nothing To Men Like Me. It's The Event That Proves Them Right.

[love] Is The Type Of Disease That Spares Neither The Intelligent Nor The Idiotic.

The Gods Had Condemned Sisyphus To Ceaselessly Rolling A Rock To The Top Of A Mountain, Whence The Stone Would Fall Back Of Its Own Weight. They Had Thought With Some Reason That There Is No More Dreadful Punishment Than Futile And Hopeless Labor.

In Our Wildest Aberrations We Dream Of An Equilibrium We Have Left Behind And Which We Naively Expect To Find At The End Of Our Errors. Childish Presumption Which Justifies The Fact That Child-nations, Inheriting Our Follies, Are Now Directing Our History.

Betrayal Answers Betrayal, The Mask Of Love Is Answered By The Disappearance Of Love.