Satan’s Diary

There is not the foul smell of a goat about me but the fragrance of perfume, and you need not fear to shake My hand lest I may scratch you with my nails: I manicure them just as you do.

But don’t you personally believe that he who will give man limitless freedom will also bring him death? Death alone releases all earthly ties. And don’t you regard the words ‘freedom’ and ‘death’ as synonymous?”

Hateful to me is the gentle murmur of false strings beneath the fingers of liars and scoundrels.

When one doll breaks, its place is taken by another, but the play goes on. The music is not silenced, the auditors continue to applaud and it is all very interesting. Does the spectator concern himself about the fate of the fragments, thrust upon the scrap heap?