After Being Bombarded Endlessly By Road-safety Propaganda

The Human Race Sleepwalked To Oblivion, Thinking Only Of The Corporate Logos On It's Shroud.

Elaborate Burial Customs Are A Sure Sign Of Decadence.

Given That External Reality Is A Fiction, The Writer's Role Is Almost Superfluous. He Does Not Need To Invent The Fiction Because It Is Already There.

'what Was Being On The Moon Literally Like?' [. . .] 'being On The Moon?' His Tired Gaze Inspected The Narrow Street Of Cheap Jewellery Stores, With Its Office Messengers And Lottery Touts, The Off-duty Taxi-drivers Leaning Against Their Cars. 'it Was Just Like Being Here.'

The Enlightenment View Of Mankind Is A Complete Myth. It Leads Us Into Thinking We're Sane And Rational Creatures Most Of The Time, And We're Not.