Wit Is The Epitaph Of An Emotion.

What, If Some Day Or Night A Demon Were To Steal After You Into Your Loneliest Loneliness And Say To You: 'this Life As You Now Live It And Have Lived It, You Will Have To Live Once More And Innumerable Times More' ... Would You Not Throw Yourself Down And Gnash Your Teeth And Curse The Demon Who Spoke Thus? Or Have You Once Experienced A Tremendous Moment When You Would Have Answered Him: 'you Are A God And Never Have I Heard Anything More Divine.

Not By Wrath Does One Kill, But By Laughter.

I Call A Lie: Wanting Not To See Something One Does See, Wanting Not To See Something As One Sees It... The Most Common Lie Is The Lie One Tells To Oneself; Lying To Others Is Relatively The Exception.

Whenever The Truth Is Uncovered, The Artist Will Always Cling With Rapt Gaze To What Still Remains Covering Even After Such Uncovering; But The Theoretical Man Enjoys And Finds Satisfaction In The Discarded Covering And Finds The Highest Object Of His Pleasure In The Process Of An Ever Happy Uncovering That Succeeds Through His Own Efforts.

Where Is The Lightning To Lick You With Its Tongue? Where Is The Madness With Which You Should Be Cleansed? Behold, I Show You The Superman. He Is This Lightning, He Is This Madness.