It Is The Job Of Thinking People

How Many Crimes Are Permitted Simply Because Their Authors Could Not Endure Being Wrong.

In A Universe Suddenly Divested Of Illusion And Lights, Man Feels An Alien, A Stranger. His Exile Is Without Remedy Since He Is Deprived Of The Memory Of A Lost Home Or The Hope Of A Promised Land.

To Stay Or To Go, It Amounted To The Same Thing.

Everyone Would Like To Behave Like A Pagan, With Everyone Else Behaving Like A Christian.

To Create Is Likewise To Give A Shape To One's Fate