I Knew Words Were Like Chains, They

I Knew I Would Always Want To Go On Living With Myself, However Hollow I Became, However Diseased.

I Will Tell You What War Is. War Is A Psychosis Caused By An Inability To See Relationships. Our Relationship With Our Fellowmen. Our Relationship With Our Economic And Historical Situation. And Above All Our Relationship To Nothingness, To Death.

The Craving To Risk Death Is Our Last Great Perversion. We Come From Night, We Go Into Night. Why Live In Night?

Follow The Accident, Fear The Fixed Plan--that Is The Rule.

My Hatred Of Crowds, The Obviousness Of Crowds, Of Anything En Masse. Is This Why I Like Little-known Books? A General Desire To Escape The Main World.