History Is The Autobiography Of A Madman.

There Is Nothing In The World More Stubborn Than A Corpse: You Can Hit It, You Can Knock It To Pieces, But You Cannot Convince It.

Unaware Of The Absurdity Of It, We Introduce Our Own Petty Household Rules Into The Economy Of The Universe For Which The Life Of Generations, Peoples, Of Entire Planets, Has No Importance In Relation To The General Development.

It Must Not Be Thought That The Cowardly Feeling Of Caution And Uneasy Self-preservation Is Innate In The English Character. It Is The Consequence Of A Corpulence Derived From Wealth And Of The Training Of All Thoughts And Passions For Acquisitiveness.

People Who Have Realized That This Is A Dream Imagine That It Is Easy To Wake Up, And Are Angry With Those Who Continue Sleeping, Not Considering That The Whole World That Environs Them Does Not Permit Them To Wake. Life Proceeds As A Series Of Optical Illusions, Artificial Needs And Imaginary Sensations.

To Build A City Where It Is Impossible To Build A City Is Madness In Itself, But To Build There One Of The Most Elegant And Grandest Of Cities Is The Madness Of Genius.