Humanitarianism Is Rude.

The Principle Tragedy Of My Life Is, Like All Tragedies, An Irony Of Destiny. I Reject Real Life As If It Were A Condemnation; I Reject Dreams As If They Were An Ignoble Liberation. [...]after The End Of The Stars Uselessly Whitened In The Morning Sky And The Breeze Became Less Cold In The Barely Orange Tinged In The Yellow Of The Light On The Scattered Low Clouds, I, Who Hadn't Slept, Could Finally, Slowly Raise My Body, Exhausted From Nothing From The Bed From Which I Had Thought The Universe.

The Human Soul Is An Abyss

I'd Like To Be In The Country So That I'd Could Like Being In The City.

Every Man Who Deserves To Be Famous Knows It Is Not Worth The Trouble.

Nobody Appropriates Novelties As Readily As The Portuguese.