A Fate Is Not A Punishment.

And It Was Like Knocking Four Quick Times On The Door Of Unhappiness.

For What Gives Value To Travel Is Fear. It Breaks Down A Kind Of Inner Structure We Have. Travel Robs Us Of Such Refuge. Far From Our Own People, Our Own Language, Stripped Of All Our Props, Deprived Of Our Masks (one Doesn't Know The Fare On The Streetcars, Or Anything Else), We Are Completely On The Surface Of Ourselves.

Only He Who Is Uncompromising As To His Rights Maintains The Sense Of Duty.

It Is Not True That The Heart Wears Out - But The Body Creates This Illusion.

Mother Died Today. Or Maybe Yesterday; I Can't Be Sure.