As Words Have An Effective Power Of

Prose Is Like Hair; It Shines With Combing.

I Love My Work With A Frenetic And Perverse Love, As An Ascetic Loves The Hair Shirt Which Scratches His Belly.

And He Beholds The Moon; Like A Rounded Fragment Of Ice Filled With Motionless Light.

By Trying To Understand Everything, Everything Makes Me Dream

That Man Has Missed Something Who Has Never Left A Brothel At Sunrise Feeling Like Throwing Himself Into The River Out Of Pure Disgust.