Chaos Is Rejecting All You

To Hope Is To Contradict The Future.

Our Works, Whatever They May Be, Derive From Our Incapacity To Kill Or To Kill Ourselves.

Everything Turns On Pain; The Rest Is Accessory, Even Nonexistent, For We Remember Only What Hurts. Painful Sensations Being The Only Real Ones, It Is Virtually Useless To Experience Others.

To Foreswear Vengeance Is To Chain Oneself To Forgiveness, To Flounder In Pardon, To Be Tainted By The Hatred Smothered Within.

Only One Thing Matters: Learning To Be The Loser.