God Is Dead. Marx Is Dead. And

When Silence Confronts Us, The Question To Which There Is No Answer Rings Out In The Silence. That Ultimate "why," That Great "why" Is Like A Light That Blots Out Everything, But A Blinding Light; Nothing More Can Be Made Out.

Shakespeare Was The Great One Before Us. His Place Was Between God And Despair.

When I Was Born, I Was Almost Fourteen Years Old. That's Why I Was Able To Understand More Easily Than Most What It Was All About.

All Cats Die. Socrates Is Dead. Therefore Socrates Is A Cat.

A Man With A Soul Is Not Like Every Other Man.