He Who Is Obsessed By

A Head Full Of Stars, Just Not In Constellation Yet.

All The Things One Has Forgotten Scream For Help In Dreams.

The Great Writers Of Aphorisms Read As If They Had All Known Each Other Well.

Whether Or Not God Is Dead: It Is Impossible To Keep Silent About Him Who Was There For So Long.

I Cannot Become Modest; Too Many Things Burn In Me; The Old Solutions Are Falling Apart; Nothing Has Been Done Yet With The New Ones. So I Begin, Everywhere At Once, As If I Had A Century Ahead Of Me.