Going to pieces. To go to pieces so pointlessly and unnecessarily.

The truth is always an abyss.

You are so vulnerably haunting. Your eeriness is terrifyingly irresistible.

I lack nothing. I only needed myself.

Faith, like a guillotine. As heavy, as light.

Death confronts us not unlike the historical battle scene that hangs on the wall of the classroom. It is our task to obscure or quite obliterate the picture by our deeds while we are still in this world.

Everything is deception: seeking the minimum of illusion, keeping within the ordinary limitations, seeking the maximum. In the first case one cheats the Good, by trying to make it too easy for oneself to get it, and the Evil by imposing all too unfavorable conditions of warfare on it. In the second case one cheats the Good by keeping as aloof from it as possible, and the Evil by hoping to make it powerless through intensifying it to the utmost.