A Regret Understood By No One: The

Music Is The Refuge Of Souls Ulcerated By Happiness.

Man Must Vanquish Himself, Must Do Himself Violence, In Order To Perform The Slightest Action Untainted By Evil.

What To Think Of Other People? I Ask Myself This Question Each Time I Make A New Acquaintance. So Strange Does It Seem To Me That We Exist, And That We Consent To Exist.

The Mind Is The Result Of The Torments The Flesh Undergoes Or Inflicts Upon Itself.

To Act Is To Anchor In The Imminent Future.