Madness, In Its Wild, Untamable Words, Proclaims

The Soul Is The Prison Of The Body.

The Work Of An Intellectual Is Not To Mould The Political Will Of Others; It Is, Through The Analyses That He Does In His Own Field, To Re-examine Evidence And Assumptions, To Shake Up Habitual Ways Of Working And Thinking, To Dissipate Conventional Familiarities, To Re-evaluate Rules And Institutions And To Participate In The Formation Of A Political Will (where He Has His Role As Citizen To Play).

If I Won A Few Billion In The Lottery, I Would Create An Institute Where People Who Would Like To Die Would Come Spend A Weekend, A Week, Or A Month In Pleasure, Under Drugs Perhaps, In Order To Disappear Afterward, As If Erased.

One Thing In Any Case Is Certain: Man Is Neither The Oldest Nor The Most Constant Problem That Has Been Posed For Human Knowledge.

Search For What Is Good And Strong And Beautiful In Your Society And Elaborate From There. Push Outward. Always Create From What You Already Have. Then You Will Know What To Do.