With Society And Its Public, There Is

No One Has Ever Written, Painted, Sculpted, Modeled, Built, Or Invented Except Literally To Get Out Of Hell.

The Truth Of Life Lies In The Impulsiveness Of Matter. The Mind Of Man Has Been Poisoned By Concepts. Do Not Ask Him To Be Content, Ask Him Only To Be Calm, To Believe That He Has Found His Place. But Only The Madman Is Really Calm.

There Is Nothing Like An Insane Asylum For Gently Incubating Death.

And War Is Wonderful, Isn't It? For It's War, Isn't It, That The Americans Have Been Preparing For And Are Preparing For This Way Step By Step. In Order To Defend This Senseless Manufacture From All Competition That Could Not Fail To Arise On All Sides.

If I Commit Suicide, It Will Not Be To Destroy Myself, But To Put Myself Back Together Again. Suicide Will Be For Me Only One Means Of Violently Reconquering Myself, Of Brutally Invading My Being, Of Anticipating The Unpredictable Approaches Of God. By Suicide, I Reintroduce My Design In Nature, I Shall For The First Time Give Things The Shape Of My Will.