As [john Heartfield] Was Playing With The

Geniuses Are Like Ocean Liners: They Should Never Meet.

Everything That Is Not Me Is Incomprehensible.

What On Earth Is Modern Exegesis Up To? Oh, Little Lazy One! Some Red Wine And Up! Off You Go, Brandishing Your Fork, Stripped Of Ophelia's Useless Ornaments, Fire In Your Large Nostrils, Out To Rake The Muck Of Metaphors.

Light Is Meaningful Only In Relation To Darkness, And Truth Presupposes Error. It Is These Mingled Opposites Which People Our Life, Which Make It Pungent, Intoxicating. We Only Exist In Terms Of This Conflict, In The Zone Where Black And White Clash.

O Reason, Reason, Abstract Phantom Of The Waking State, I Had Already Expelled You From My Dreams, Now I Have Reached A Point Where Those Dreams Are About To Become Fused With Apparent Realities: Now There Is Only Room Here For Myself.