...any Authentic Creation Is A Gift To

From The Evening Breeze To This Hand On My Shoulder, Everything Has Its Truth.

Empires And Churches Are Born Under The Sun Of Death.

Men Are Never Convinced Of Your Reasons, Of Your Sincerity, Of The Seriousness Of Your Sufferings, Except By Your Death. So Long As You Are Alive, Your Case Is Doubtful; You Have A Right Only To Their Skepticism.

Once One's Up Against It, The Precise Manner Of One's Death Has Obviously Small Importance.

Poverty, First Of All Was Never A Misfortune For Me; It Was Radiant With Sunlight.. I Owe It To My Family, First Of All, Who Lacked Everything And Who Envied Practically Nothing.