We Commit Two Wrongs When

It Had To Happen To You, To Concentrate Your Whole Life On One Point, And Then Discover That You Can Do Anything Except Live At That Point.

You Will Hear Words Old And Spent And Useless Like Costumes Left Over From Yesterday's Parties.

Reality Is A Prison, Where One Vegetates And Always Will.

Artists Are The Monks Of The Bourgeois State.

The Act The Act Must Not Be A Revenge. It Must Be A Calm, Weary Renunciation, A Closing Of Accounts, A Private, Rhythmic Deed. The Last Remark.