Brazil Is Where I Have To Be,

So Long As I Have Questions To Which There Are No Answers, I Shall Go On Writing.

I Write And That Way Rid Myself Of Me And Then At Last I Can Rest.

The World's Continual Breathing Is What We Hear And Call Silence.

I Ask Myself: Is Every Story That Has Ever Been Written In This World, A Story Of Suffering And Affliction?

How Was She To Tie Herself To A Man Without Permitting Him To Imprison Her? And Was There Some Means Of Acquiring Things Without Those Things Possessing Her?