What am I doing here in this endless winter?
Going to pieces. To go to pieces so pointlessly and unnecessarily.
Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made.
Human nature, essentially changeable, as unstable as the dust, can endure no restraint; if it binds itself it soon begins to tear madly at its bonds, until it rends everything asunder, the wall, the bonds, and its very self.
Nothing is as deceptive as a photograph.
Not everyone can see the truth, but he can be it.