No Cause Justifies The Deaths Of Innocent

All That Remains Is A Fate Whose Outcome Alone Is Fatal. Outside Of That Single Fatality Of Death, Everything, Joy Or Happiness, Is Liberty. A World Remains Of Which Man Is The Sole Master. What Bound Him Was The Illusion Of Another World.

Sometimes, Carrying On, Just Carrying On, Is The Superhuman Achievement.

After All Perhaps The Greatness Of Art Lies In The Perpetual Tension Between Beauty And Pain, The Love Of Men And The Madness Of Creation, Unbearable Solitude And The Exhausting Crowd, Rejection And Consent.

I Feel More Fellowship With The Defeated Than With Saints.

Every Man, And For Stronger Reasons, Every Artist, Wants To Be Recognized. So Do I.