Life's True Face Is The Skull.

I Was Ill Before I Fell Ill.

Within This Arena, Which Grows More Stable Night After Day, Generations Work And Love And Hope And Vanish. New Generations Tread On The Corpses Of Their Fathers, Continue The Work Above The Abyss And Struggle To Tame The Dread Mystery. How? By Cultivating A Single Field, By Kissing A Woman, By Studying A Stone, An Animal, An Idea.

All Roads Lead To The Earth; The Abyss Leads To God. Jump!

So Few In Reality Are The True Necessities Of Man

True Teachers Are Those Who Use Themselves As Bridges Over Which They Invite Their Students To Cross; Then, Having Facilitated Their Crossing, Joyfully Collapse, Encouraging Them To Create Their Own.