Pitch-black winter nights live in my bones.
All truth is crooked, time itself is a circle
When art dresses itself in the most worn-out material it is most easily recognized as art.
The higher we soar the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.
We attack not only to hurt someone, to defeat him, but perhaps also simply to become conscious of our own strength.
Whoever has provoked men to rage against him has always gained a party in his favor, too.