The Loss Of Love Is The Loss

No, Father, I've A Very Different Idea Of Love. And Until My Dying Day I Shall Refuse To Love A Scheme Of Things In Which Children Are Put To Torture.

Happiness And The Absurd Are Two Sons Of The Same Earth. They Are Inseparable.

[paris] Is Dirty. It Has Pigeons And Black Yards. The People Have White Skin.

Love Is The Kind Of Illness That Does Not Spare The Intelligent Or The Dull.

It Happens That The Stage Sets Collapse. Rising, Streetcar, Four Hours In The Office Or The Factory, Meal, Streetcar, Four Hours Of Work, Meal, Sleep, And Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday And Saturday According To The Same Rhythm – This Path Is Easily Followed Most Of The Time. But One Day The “why” Arises And Everything Begins In That Weariness Tinged With Amazement.