We Become Moral When We

That Translucent Alabaster Of Our Memories.

One Becomes Moral As Soon As One Is Unhappy.

When From A Long Distant Past Nothing Subsists After The Things Are Broken And Scattered, The Smell And Taste Of Things Remain.

It Is The Tragedy Of Other People That They Are To Us Merely Showcases For The Very Perishable Collections Of Our Own Mind.

No Man Is A Complete Mystery Except To Himself.