I Am A Man By Virtue Of

We Do Not Die Because We Have To Die; We Die Because One Day, And Not So Long Ago, Our Consciousness Was Forced To Deem It Necessary.

The Actor Is An Athlete Of The Heart.

I Destroy Because For Me Everything That Proceeds From Reason Is Untrustworthy. I Believe Only In The Evidence Of What Stirs My Marrow, Not In The Evidence Of What Addresses Itself To My Reason. I Have Found Levels In The Realm Of The Nerve. I Now Feel Capable Of Evaluating The Evidence. There Is For Me An Evidence In The Realm Of Pure Flesh Which Has Nothing To Do With The Evidence Of Reason. The Eternal Conflict Between Reason And The Heart Is Decided In My Very Flesh, But In My Flesh Irrigated By Nerves.

All Writing Is Garbage. People Who Come Out Of Nowhere To Try And Put Into Words Any Part Of What Goes On In Their Minds Are Pigs.

The Race Of Prophets Is Extinct. Europe Is Becoming Set In Its Ways, Slowly Embalming Itself Beneath The Wrappings Of Its Borders, Its Factories, Its Law-courts And Its Universities. The Frozen Mind Cracks Between The Mineral Staves Which Close Upon It.