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