Whoever finishes a revolution only halfway, digs his own grave.
The world is chaos. Nothingness is the yet-to-be-born god of the world.
There are only Epicureans, either crude or refined; Christ was the most refined.
Peace to the shacks! War on the palaces!
And for tired eyes every light is too bright, and for tired lips every breath too heavy, and for tired ears every word too much.
I'll know how to die with courage; that is easier than living.