God is indeed dead. He died of self-horror when He saw the creature He had made in His own image.

Whom the gods do not intend to destroy, they first make mad with poetry.

Time flames like a paraffin stove / and what burns are the minutes I live.

By walking, I found out where I was going.

I have stopped being a misanthrope.

I am a genius who has written poems that will survive with the best of Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Keats

God is indeed dead. He died of self-horror when He saw the creature He had made in His own image.