The Only Certainty Is Death.

We Live Always Under The Weight Of The Old And Odious Customs... Of Our Barbarous Ancestors.

I Love The Night Passionately... I Love It With All My Senses: I Love To See It, I Love To Breathe It In, I Love To Open My Ears To Its Silence, I Love My Whole Body To Be Caressed By Its Blackness.

In Fact Living Is Dying.

To Contest An Author's Right To Create A Poetic Or Realistic Work Is To Want To Force Him To Change His Temperament, Challenge His Originality, Refuse To Allow Him To Use The Eye And The Intelligence Nature Has Given Him.

The Only Certainty Is Death.