Every Village Has Its Simpleton,

Thus Night With All Her Snares Passed Through The Upper World And Baited All Heads Sweetly, Fed All Foolish Hopes, For Night Can Bring To Men All Shrewish Day Denies, Wrapped As A Gift In The Green Leaves Of Opiate Dream.

I Hate All Virtues Based On Food And Bloated Bellies; Though Food And Drink Are Good, I'm Better Slaked And Fed By That Inhuman Flame Which Burns In Our Black Bowels. I Like To Name That Flame Which Burns Within Me God!

How Could I, Who Loved Life So Intensely, Have Let Myself Be Entangled For So Long In That Balderdash Of Books And Paper Blackened With Ink!

I Hope For Nothing. I Fear Nothing. I Am Free.

Die Every Day. Be Reborn Again Every Day.