They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more

They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.

The only sin is the sin of being born

We are all born mad. Some remain so.

There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.

The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust