Criticism Often Takes From The Tree Caterpillars

I Think That Is The Big Danger In Keeping A Diary: You Exaggerate Everything.

Nicias, Do You Think You Can Erase With Good Deeds The Wrongs You Committed Against Your Mother? What Good Deed Will Ever Reach Her? Her Soul Is A Scorching Noon Time, Without A Single Breath Of A Breeze, Nothing Moves, Nothing Changes, Nothing Lives There; A Great Emaciated Sun, An Immobile Sun Eternally Consumes Her.

How Can I, Who Was Not Able To Retain My Own Past, Hope To Save That Of Another?

I'm Going To Smile, And My Smile Will Sink Down Into Your Pupils, And Heaven Knows What It Will Become.

Is There Really Nothing, Nothing Left Of Me?