We All Are Born Mad. Some Remain

There Are Two Moments Worthwhile In Writing, The One When You Start And The Other When You Throw It In The Waste-paper Basket.

To Him Who Has Nothing It Is Forbidden Not To Relish Filth.

It Is Suicide To Be Abroad. But What It Is To Be At Home, ... What It Is To Be At Home? A Lingering Dissolution.

Watt Had Watched People Smile And Thought He Understood How It Was Done.

Abode Where Lost Bodies Roam Each Searching For Its Lost One.