Nature Is Honest, We Aren't; We Embalm

At Any Given Moment, I Open My Eyes And Exist. And Before That, During All Eternity, What Was There? Nothing.

It So Difficult To Know What The People We Love Really Need.

When I Say "i," I Mean A Thing Absolutely Unique, Not To Be Confused With Any Other.

Sisterly Love Is, Of All Sentiments, The Most Abstract. Nature Does Not Grant It Any Functions.

A Long Association-prolonged Human Contact, When A Man And Woman Live Together-this Ends Up Producing A Sort Of Rot, A Poison.