Love Always Has Its Price, Come Whence

Patriotism Is A Kind Of Religion; It Is The Egg From Which Wars Are Hatched.

It Is The Lives We Encounter That Make Life Worth Living.

One Sometimes Weeps Over One's Illusions With As Much Bitterness As Over A Death.

Our Memory Is A More Perfect World Than The Universe: It Gives Back Life To Those Who No Longer Exist.

I Go To Bed, And I Wait For Sleep As A Man Might Wait For The Executioner. I Wait For Its Coming With Dread, And My Heart Beats And My Legs Tremble, While My Whole Body Shivers Beneath The Warmth Of The Bedclothes, Until The Moment When I Suddenly Fall Asleep, As A Man Throws Himself Into A Pool Of Stagnant Water In Order To Drown. I Do Not Feel This Perfidious Sleep Coming Over Me As I Used To, But A Sleep Which Is Close To Me And Watching Me, Which Is Going To Seize Me By The Head, To Close My Eyes And Annihilate Me.