The chalice of serene dryness stands in the open for anyone to drink, but the people are repulsed by cleanliness; their souls, per Heraclitus, become joyful when wet.

Man is a poor creature, with a body conceived between rock and plant, neither of land nor sea, but looking upwards towards the sky.

What if one receives one's punishment before one's crime? — "I have not committed my crime yet, I have not committed my crime yet!" A futile martyrdom.

Man is the only animal with the nature of a beggar, and of all organisms resembles the plant, looking towards the sun, the most.

"I just want to spread joy and happiness." Please, find a hobby.

Heaven and space are terribly boring, tedious— the architect seemingly must have forgotten about those places.

Dostoyevsky the masochist did not experience pleasure except through punishment— release from jail was hell, he found heaven in punishing himself in literary form.

It is, perhaps, impious to claim that nature is lackluster in design, but I wait for the man insolent enough to proclaim that with cities man proved himself superior to the creator.

"I grew up on the whispers of my own breathing and have never learned the words of mortal men."

Often greater hatred is reserved for those who have peeked into our virtues than for those who have witnessed our vices.

Love for the neighbour, is, as Karamzov assured us, impossible. But it is not what we observe at close hand which disturbs, but the being observed one's self.