After All, There Is Nothing But Failure.

I Would Be The Unhappiest Person Imaginable, Confronted Daily With Disastrous Works Crying Out With Errors, Imprecision, Carelessness, Amateurishness. I Avoided This Punishment By Destroying Them, I Thought, And Suddenly I Took Great Pleasure In The Word Destroying.

The Study Of Sickness Is The Most Poetic Of The Sciences.

We Can Only Exist By Taking Our Minds Off The Fact That We Exist

Our Greatest Pleasure, Surely, Is In Fragments, Just As We Derive The Most Pleasure From Life If We Regard It As A Fragment, Whereas The Whole And The Complete And The Perfect Are Basically Abhorrent.

A Criminal Is Undoubtedly A Poor Soul, Who Is Punished For His Poverty.