By virtue of depression, we recall those misdeeds we buried in the depths of our memory. Depression exhumes our shames.
Life is possible only by the deficiencies of our imagination and memory.
Those who believe in their truth -- the only ones whose imprint is retained by the memory of men -- leave the earth behind them strewn with corpses. Religions number in their ledgers more murders than the bloodiest tyrannies account for, and those whom humanity has called divine far surpass the most conscientious murderers in their thirst for slaughter.
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