The strides of humanity are slow, they can only be counted in centuries.
Murder begins where self-defense ends.
The statue of Freedom has not been cast yet, the furnace is hot, we can all still burn our fingers.
The breath of an aristocrat is the death rattle of freedom.
The life of the wealthy is one long Sunday.
The world is chaos. Nothingness is the yet-to-be-born god of the world.