Beyond Myself, Somewhere, I Wait For My

The Mexican...is Familiar With Death. [he] Jokes About It, Caresses It, Sleeps With It, Celebrates It. It Is One Of His Favorite Toys And His Most Steadfast Love.

Poet: Gardener Of Epitaphs.

Believing Ourselves To Be Possessors Of Absolute Truth Degrades Us: We Regard Every Person Whose Way Of Thinking Is Different From Ours As A Monster And A Threat And By So Doing Turn Our Own Selves Into Monsters And Threats To Our Fellows.

Solitude Lies At The Lowest Depth Of The Human Condition. Man Is The Only Being Who Feels Himself To Be Alone And The Only One Who Is Searching For The Other.

For Every Language That Becomes Extinct, An Image Of Man Disappears.