Trees Are Massacred, Houses Go Up —

Shame On The Man Who Goes To His Grave Escorted By The Miserable Hopes That Have Kept Him Alive.

The Amount Of Chiaroscuro An Idea Harbors Is The Only Index Of Its Profundity.

An Existence Transfigured By Failure.

Every Thought Should Recall The Ruin Of A Smile.

What To Think Of Other People? I Ask Myself This Question Each Time I Make A New Acquaintance. So Strange Does It Seem To Me That We Exist, And That We Consent To Exist.