Nostalgia, More Than Anything, Gives Us The

We Are So Lonely In Life That We Must Ask Ourselves If The Loneliness Of Dying Is Not A Symbol Of Our Human Existence.

For You Who No Longer Possess It, Freedom Is Everything, For Us Who Do, It Is Merely An Illusion.

Whenever I Happen To Be In A City Of Any Size, I Marvel That Riots Do Not Break Out Everyday: Massacres, Unspeakable Carnage, A Doomsday Chaos. How Can So Many Human Beings Coexist In A Space So Confined Without Hating Each Other To Death?

I Never Met One Interesting Mind That Was Not Richly Endowed With Inadmissible Deficiencies.

No One Recovers From The Disease Of Being Born, A Deadly Wound If There Ever Was One.