There Are No Eternal Facts, As There

"faith" As An Imperative Is A Veto Against Science-in Praxi, It Means Lies At Any Price.

Whatever The State Saith Is A Lie; Whatever It Hath Is A Theft: All Is Counterfeit In It, The Gnawing, Sanguinary, Insatiate Monster.

In Solitude The Lonely Man Is Eaten Up By Himself, Among Crowds By The Many.

The Most Intelligent Men, Like The Strongest, Find Their Happiness Where Others Would Find Only Disaster: In The Labyrinth, In Being Hard With Themselves And With Others, In Effort; Their Delight Is Self-mastery; In Them Asceticism Becomes Second Nature, A Necessity, As Instinct.

Man Is No Longer An Artist, He Has Become A Work Of Art.