There Is Nothing Like An

The True Theater, Because It Moves And Makes Use Of Living Instruments, Continues To Stir Up Shadows Where Life Has Never Ceased To Grope Its Way.

I See In The Act Of Throwing The Dice And Of Risking The Affirmation Of Some Intuitively Felt Truth, However Uncertain, My Whole Reason For Living.

If I Commit Suicide, It Will Not Be To Destroy Myself, But To Put Myself Back Together Again. Suicide Will Be For Me Only One Means Of Violently Reconquering Myself, Of Brutally Invading My Being, Of Anticipating The Unpredictable Approaches Of God. By Suicide, I Reintroduce My Design In Nature, I Shall For The First Time Give Things The Shape Of My Will.

There Is Nothing Like An Insane Asylum For Gently Incubating Death.

How Hard Is It, When Everything Encourages Us To Sleep, Though We May Look About Us With Conscious, Clinging Eyes, To Wake And Yet Look About Us As In A Dream, With Eyes That No Longer Know Their Function And Whose Gaze Is Turned Inward.