War, the World's Only Hygiene

I feel the matter of my heart being transformed, metallized, in an optimism of steel.

A new beauty has been added to the splendor of the world - the beauty of speed.

We want to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and rashness.

The past is necessarily inferior to the future. That is how we wish it to be. How could we acknowledge any merit in our most dangerous enemy: the past, gloomy prevaricator, execrable tutor?

Spaghetti is no food for fighters.

War, the World's Only Hygiene