Progress Is The Injustice Each

By Virtue Of Depression, We Recall Those Misdeeds We Buried In The Depths Of Our Memory. Depression Exhumes Our Shames.

If I Were To Be Totally Sincere, I Would Say That I Do Not Know Why I Live And Why I Do Not Stop Living. The Answer Probably Lies In The Irrational Character Of Life Which Maintains Itself Without Reason.

Mind, Even More Deadly To Empires Than To Individuals, Erodes Them, Compromises Their Solidity.

True Moral Elegance Consists In The Art Of Disguising One's Victories As Defeats.

Lucidity's Task: To Attain A Correct Despair, An Olympian Ferocity.