A Book Is A Suicide Postponed.

We Must Suffer To The End, To The Moment When We Stop Believing In Suffering.

Hungarian Language — Savage It May Be But Of A Beauty That Has Nothing Human About It, With Sonorities Of Another Universe, Powerful And Corrosive, Appropriate To Prayer, To Groans And To Tears, Risen Out Of Hell To Perpetuate Its Accent And Its Aura…words Of Nectar And Cyanide.

Each Of Us Must Pay For The Slightest Damage He Inflicts Upon A Universe Created For Indifference And Stagnation, Sooner Or Later, He Will Regret Not Having Left It Intact.

Philosophy: Impersonal Anxiety; Refuge Among Anemic Ideas.

The Desire To Die Was My One And Only Concern; To It I Have Sacrificed Everything, Even Death.