Behind All Their Personal Vanity, Women Themselves

What Does Not Destroy Me, Makes Me Stronger.

...throw Roses Into The Abyss And Say: 'here Is My Thanks To The Monster Who Didn't Succeed In Swallowing Me Alive.

When We Dream About Those Who Are Long Since Forgotten Or Dead, It Is A Sign That We Have Undergone A Radical Transformation And That The Ground On Which We Live Has Been Completely Dug Up: Then The Dead Rise Up, And Our Antiquity Becomes Modernity.

Nothing Is Beautiful, Only Man: On This Piece Of Naivete Rests All Aesthetics, It Is The First Truth Of Aesthetics. Let Us Immediately Add Its Second: Nothing Is Ugly But Degenerate Man - The Domain Of Aesthetic Judgment Is Therewith Defined.

Not Joy Is The Mother Of Dissipation, But Joylessness.