My Pessimism Extends To The Point Of

The Least One Can Say Of Power Is That A Vocation For It Is Suspicious.

Certain Brief Sentences Are Peerless In Their Ability To Give One The Feeling That Nothing Remains To Be Said.

On The Brink Of Being Satiated, Desire Still Appears Infinite.

In Our Ideals We Unwittingly Reveal Our Vices.

God, That Checkroom Of Our Dreams.