Culture: The Cry Of Men In Face

What Is A Firm Hand To Me, Of What Use To Me Is This Astonishing Power If I Cannot Change The Order Of Things, If I Cannot Make The Sun Set In The East, That Suffering Diminish And That Beings No Longer Die?

Finally, And Most Of All, Words Failed Him.

I Longed To Be Forgotten In Order To Be Able To Complain To Myself.

To Me, Art Is Not A Solitary Delight. It Is A Means Of Stirring The Greatest Number Of Men By Providing Them With A Privileged Image Of Our Common Joys And Woes.

Since We're All Going To Die, It's Obvious That When And How Don't Matter.