It Is Raining Bombs On The House

All Things Must Be Examined, Debated, Investigated Without Exception And Without Regard For Anyone's Feelings... We Must Run Roughshod Over All These Ancient Puerilities, Overturn The Barriers That Reason Never Erected, Give Back To The Arts And Sciences The Liberty That Is So Precious To Them.

You Live As If You Were Destined To Live Forever, No Thought Of Your Frailty Ever Enters Your Head, Of How Much Time Has Already Gone By You Take No Heed. You Squander Time As If You Drew From A Full And Abundant Supply, So All The While That Day Which You Bestow On Some Person Or Thing Is Perhaps Your Last. You Have All The Fears Of Mortals And All The Desires Of Immortals… What Foolish Forgetfulness Of Mortality To Defer Wise Resolutions To The Fiftieth Or Sixtieth Year, And To Intend To Begin Life At A Point To Which Few Have Attained.

The Infant Runs Toward It With Its Eyes Closed, The Adult Is Stationary, The Old Man Approaches It With His Back Turned.

There's A Bit Of Testicle At The Bottom Of Our Most Sublime Feelings And Our Purest Tenderness.

If You Want Me To Believe In God, You Must Make Me Touch Him.