When You Dream, You Are An Author,

The Only Reason Why We Are Always Thinking Of Our Own Ego Is That We Have To Live With It More Continuously Than With Anyone Else's.

Those Philosophers Who Believe In The Absolute Logic Of Truth Have Never Had To Discuss It On Close Terms With A Woman.

A Dream Is A Creation Of The Intelligence, The Creator Being Present But Not Knowing How It Will End.

Now That I've Seen What War Is, What Civil War Is, I Know That Everybody, If One Day It Should End, Ought To Ask Himself: "and What Shall We Make Of The Fallen? Why Are They Dead?" I Wouldn't Know What To Say. Not Now, At Any Rate. Nor Does It Seem To Me That The Others Know. Perhaps Only Dead Know, And Only For Them Is The War Really Over.

Reality Is A Prison, Where One Vegetates And Always Will. All The Rest - Thought, Action - Is Just A Pastime, Mental Or Physical. What Counts Then, Is To Come To Grips With Reality. The Rest Can Go.