What we call life is only talk of nature.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
God is a cloud from which rain fell.
Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.
Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
