I Write And That Way Rid Myself

For Only When I Err Do I Get Away From What I Know And What I Understand. If "truth" Were What I Can Understand, It Would End Up Being But A Small Truth, My-sized. Truth Must Reside Precisely In What I Shall Never Understand.

I Have Grown Weary Of Literature: Silence Alone Comforts Me. If I Continue To Write, It’s Because I Have Nothing More To Accomplish In This World Except To Wait For Death. Searching For The Word In Darkness. Any Little Success Invades Me And Puts Me In Full View Of Everyone. I Long To Wallow In The Mud. I Can Scarcely Control My Need For Self-abasement, My Craving For Licentiousness And Debauchery. Sin Tempts Me, Forbidden Pleasures Lure Me. I Want To Be Both Pig And Hen, Then Kill Them And Drink Their Blood.

All The World Began With A Yes. One Molecule Said Yes To Another Molecule And Life Was Born. But Before Prehistory There Was The Prehistory Of The Prehistory And There Was The Never And There Was The Yes. It Was Ever So. I Don’t Know Why, But I Do Know That The Universe Never Began. Make No Mistake, I Only Achieve Simplicity With Enormous Effort.

And Even Sadness Was Also Something For Rich People, For People Who Could Afford It, For People Who Didn't Have Anything Better To Do. Sadness Was A Luxury.

Everything In The World Began With A Yes. One Molecule Said Yes To Another Molecule And Life Was Born.