And At Night I Love

What Was My Body To Me? A Kind Of Flunkey In My Service. Let But My Anger Wax Hot, My Love Grow Exalted, My Hatred Collect In Me, And That Boasted Solidarity Between Me And My Body Was Gone.

No Individual Is Isolated. He Who Is Sad, Saddens Others.

At One Time I Say To Myself: "surely Not! The Little Prince Shuts His Flower Under Her Glass Globe Every Night, And He Watches Over His Sheep Very Carefully . . ." Then I Am Happy. And There Is Sweetness In The Laughter Of All The Stars.

Man Is But A Network Of Relationships And These Alone Matter To Him.

War Is Not An Adventure. It Is A Disease. It Is Like Typhus.