It Is Not Peace We

Comedians Are The Nearest To Suicide.

Guilt Always Hurries Towards Its Complement, Punishment: Only There Does Its Satisfaction Lie.

History Is An Endless Repetition Of The Wrong Way Of Living.

These Are The Moments Which Are Not Calculable, And Cannot Be Assessed In Words; They Live On In The Solution Of Memory, Like Wonderful Creatures, Unique Of Their Own Kind, Dredged Up From The Floors Of Some Unexplored Ocean.

The Sense Of Truth No Matter How Subjective Is Necessary For The Experience Of Beauty.