God Is Dead. Marx Is

A Work Of Art Is Above All An Adventure Of The Mind.

Ideologies Separate Us. Dreams And Anguish Bring Us Together.

Childhood Is The World Of Miracle And Wonder; As If Creation Rose, Bathed In The Light, Out Of The Darkness, Utterly New And Fresh And Astonishing. The End Of Childhood Is When Things Cease To Astonish Us.

I Long For Solitude And Yet I Cannot Stand It.

To Tear Ourselves Away From The Everyday, From Habit, From Mental Laziness Which Hides From Us The Strangeness Of Reality, We Must Receive Something Like A Real Bludgeon Blow.