But Do We Really Live? To Live

Property Isn't Theft: It's Nothing.

Life Is A Thread That Someone Entangled.

I Am The Suburb Of A Non-existent Town, The Prolix Commentary On A Book Never Written. I Am Nobody, Nobody. I Am A Character In A Novel Which Remains To Be Written, And I Float, Aerial, Scattered Without Ever Having Been, Among The Dreams Of A Creature Who Did Not Know How To Finish Me Off.

To Be Understood Is To Prostitute Oneself

The Unnatural And The Strange Have A Perfume Of Their Own