āPitch-black winter nights live in my bones.ā
āAll truths are bloody truths to me.ā
āThere are no facts, only interpretations.ā
āWhen somebody dies we usually need reasons for consolation, not so much to alleviate our pain as to excuse ourselves for so readily feeling consoled.ā
āBut thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful! Distrust all those who talk much of their justice!ā
āIn a seriously intended intellectual emancipation a person's mute passions and cravings also hope to find their advantage.ā
āAll dark and comfortless.ā
āBlind is his love, and best befits the dark.ā
āNow entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.ā