There Is Only One Way Left To

If I Acknowledge My Dependency, I Do So Because For Me It Is A Means Of Signifying My Demand: In The Realm Of Love, Futility Is Not A "weakness" Or An "absurdity": It Is A Strong Sign: The More Futile, The More It Signifies And The More It Asserts Itself As Strength.)

Who Speaks Is Not Who Writes, And Who Writes Is Not Who Is.

Pleasure Is Continually Disappointed, Reduced, Deflated, In Favor Of Strong, Noble Values: Truth, Death, Progress, Struggle, Joy, Etc. Its Victorious Rival Is Desire: We Are Always Being Told About Desire, Never About Pleasure.

I Have Tried To Be As Eclectic As I Possibly Can With My Professional Life, And So Far It's Been Pretty Fun.

It Is Said That Mourning, By Its Gradual Labour, Slowly Erases Pain; I Could Not, I Cannot Believe This; Because For Me, Time Eliminates The Emotion Of Loss (i Do Note Weep), That Is All. For The Rest, Everything Has Remained Motionless. For What I Have Lost Is Not A Figure (the Mother), But A Being; And Not A Being, But A Quality (a Soul): Not The Indispensable, But The Irreplaceable.