Remove The Document—and You Remove The Man.

I Hereby Certify That The Bearer Of This Note, Nikolai Ivanovich, Spent The Night In Question At Satan's Ball, Having Been Lured There In A Transportational Capacity... Hella, Put In Parentheses! And Write 'hog.' Signed- Behemoth.

In Order To Be In Control, You Have To Have A Definite Plan For At Least A Reasonable Period Of Time. So How, May I Ask, Can Man Be In Control If He Can't Even Draw Up A Plan For A Ridiculously Short Period Of Time, Say, A Thousand Years, And Is, Moreover, Unable To Ensure His Own Safety For Even The Next Day?

It Must Be Added That From His First Words The Foreigner Made A Repellent Impression On The Poet, But Berlioz Rather Liked Him - That Is, Not Liked But . . . How To Put It . . . Was Interested, Or Whatever.

Everything Passes Away-suffering,pain, Blood, Hunger,pestilence. The Sword Will Pass Away Too, But The Stars Will Remain When The Shadows Of Our Presence And Our Deeds Have Vanished From The Earth. There Is No Man Who Does Not Know That. Why, Then, Will We Not Turn Our Eyes Toward The Stars? Why?

The Tongue Can Conceal The Truth, But The Eyes Never! You're Asked An Unexpected Question, You Don't Even Flinch, It Takes Just A Second To Get Yourself Under Control, You Know Just What You Have To Say To Hide The Truth, And You Speak Very Convincingly, And Nothing In Your Face Twitches To Give You Away. But The Truth, Alas, Has Been Disturbed By The Question, And It Rises Up From The Depths Of Your Soul To Flicker In Your Eyes And All Is Lost.