When A Man Mourns For Someone Who

All Our "most Sacred Affections " Are Merely Prosaic Habit.

What Is To Come Will Emerge Only After Long Suffering, Long Silence.

Reality Is A Prison, Where One Vegetates And Always Will.

Every Luxury Must Be Paid For, And Everything Is A Luxury, Starting With Being In This World.

I've Discovered Nothing. But Do You Remember How Much We Talked When We Were Boys? We Talked Just For The Fun Of It. We Knew Very Well It Was Only Talk, But Still We Enjoyed It.