A Corpse Is What's Left After Waking

What We Desire Is Not To Possess A Woman, But To Be The Only One To Possess Her.

In Fact A Man In Love Or One Consumed With Hatred Creates Symbols For Himself, As A Superstitious Man Does, From A Passion Of Conferring Uniqueness On Things Or Persons. A Man Who Knows Nothing Of Symbols Is One Of Dante's Sluggards. This Is Why Art Mirrors Itself In Primitive Rites Or Strong Passions, Seeking For Symbols, Revolving Round The Primitive Taste For Savagery, For What Is Irrational (blood And Sex).

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.

There Is An Art In Taking The Whiplash Of Suffering Full In The Face, An Art You Must Learn. Let Each Single Attack Exhaust Itself; Pain Always Makes Single Attacks, So That Its Bite May Be More Intense, More Concentrated. And You, While Its Fangs Are Implanted And Injecting Their Venom At One Spot, Do Not Forget To Offer It Another Place Where It Can Bite You, And So Relieve The Pain Of The First.

Maybe It's Better Like This, Better That Everything Should Go Up In A Blaze Of Dry Grass And That People Should Begin Again.