Dying People Often Become Childish.

The Statue Of Freedom Has Not Been Cast Yet, The Furnace Is Hot, We Can All Still Burn Our Fingers.

We Have Not Made The Revolution, The Revolution Has Made Us.

Man Is An Abyss, And I Turn Giddy When I Look Down Into It.

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.

There Are Only Epicureans, Either Crude Or Refined; Christ Was The Most Refined.