Tears Do Not Burn Except In Solitude.

Those Who Believe In Their Truth -- The Only Ones Whose Imprint Is Retained By The Memory Of Men -- Leave The Earth Behind Them Strewn With Corpses. Religions Number In Their Ledgers More Murders Than The Bloodiest Tyrannies Account For, And Those Whom Humanity Has Called Divine Far Surpass The Most Conscientious Murderers In Their Thirst For Slaughter.

To Exist Is A Habit I Do Not Despair Of Acquiring.

To Hope Is To Contradict The Future.

Where Are My Sensations? They Have Melted Into... Me, And What Is This Me, This Self, But The Sum Of These Evaporated Sensations?

To Exist Is Equivalent To An Act Of Faith, A Protest Against The Truth, An Interminable Prayer. As Soon As They Consent To Live, The Unbeliever And The Man Of Faith Are Fundamentally The Same, Since Both Have Made The Only Decision That Defines A Being.