There Is No Truth. There

Mediocrity Cherishes Rules; As For Me, I Hate Them; I Feel For Them And For Every Restriction, Corporation, Caste, Hierarchy, Level, Herd, A Loathing Which Fills My Soul, And It Is In This Respect Perhaps That I Understand Martyrdom.

A Superhuman Will Is Needed In Order To Write, And I Am Only A Man.

Snicker On Hearing His Name: 'the Gentleman Who Thinks We Are Descended From The Apes.'

I Go Dreaming Into The Future, Where I See Nothing, Nothing. I Have No Plans, No Idea, No Project, And, What Is Worse, No Ambition. Something – The Eternal ‘what’s The Use?’ – Sets Its Bronze Barrier Across Every Avenue That I Open Up In The Realm Of Hypothesis.

You Need A High Degree Of Corruption Or A Very Big Heart To Love Absolutely Everything