Irony Is The Glory Of Slaves.

The Vineyard Country, Russet, Reddish, Carmine-brown In This Season. A Blue Outline Of Hills Above A Fertile Valley. It's Warm As Long As The Sun Does Not Set, In The Shade Cold Returns. A Strong Sauna And Then Swimming In A Pool Surrounded By Trees. Dark Redwoods, Transparent Pale-leved Birches. In Their Delicate Network, A Sliver Of The Moon. I Describe This For I Have Learned To Doubt Philosophy And The Visible World Is All That Remains.

A True Opium Of The People Is A Belief In Nothingness After Death.

It Was Only Toward The Middle Of The Twentieth Century That The Inhabitants Of Many European Countries Came, In General Unpleasantly, To The Realization That Their Fate Could Be Influenced Directly By Intricate And Abstruse Books Of Philosophy.

He Returns Years Later, Has No Demands. He Wants Only One, Most Precious Thing: To See, Purely And Simply, Without Name, Without Expectations, Fears, Or Hopes, At The Edge Where There Is No I Or Not-i.

Language Is The Only Homeland.