He Was A Tool Of The Boss,

That's How It Will Be, Except That In Reality, Both Today And Later, One Will Stand There With A Palpable Body And A Real Head, A Real Forehead, That Is, For Smiting On With One's Hand.

A Book Should Serve As An Axe To The Ice Inside Us.

How Can One Take Delight In The World Unless One Flees To It For Refuge?

A Stair Not Worn Hollow By Footsteps Is, Regarded From Its Own Point Of View, Only A Boring Something Made Of Wood.

The Truth Is Always An Abyss.