A Black Star Appears, A Point Of

How Fragile We Are Under The Sheltering Sky. Behind The Sheltering Sky Is A Vast Dark Universe, And We're Just So Small.

It's Unnecessary And Destructive To Think Of Oneself At All. People Ask Me, 'what Do You Think Of Yourself As?' My Answer Is, 'nothing.

I've Always Wanted To Get As Far As Possible From The Place Where I Was Born. Far Both Geographically And Spiritually. To Leave It Behind ... I Feel That Life Is Very Short And The World Is There To See And One Should Know As Much About It As Possible. One Belongs To The Whole World, Not Just One Part Of It.

Illness Reduces Man To His Basic State: A Cloaca In Which The Chemical Processes Continue. The Meaningless Hegemony Of The Involuntary.

Because We Don't Know When We Will Die, We Get To Think Of Life As An Inexhaustible Well. Yet Everything Happens Only A Certain Number Of Times, And A Very Small Number Really. How Many More Times Will You Remember A Certain Afternoon Of Your Childhood, An Afternoon That Is So Deeply A Part Of Your Being That You Can't Even Conceive Of Your Life Without It? Perhaps Four Or Five Times More, Perhaps Not Even That. How Many More Times Will You Watch The Full Moon Rise? Perhaps 20. And Yet It All Seems Limitless.