Not Believing In Anything Is Also A

The Slowness Of Time, For A Man Who Knows Nothing Will Happen, Is Brutal.

I Was Happy Enough; I Knew That During The Night The Whole City Might Go Up In Flames And All Its People Be Killed, But The Ravines, Houses, And Footpaths Would Wake In The Morning Calm And Unchanged.

I Thought Of How Many Places There Are In The World That Belong In This Way To Someone, Who Has It In His Blood Beyond Anyone Else's Understanding.

Reality Is A Prison, Where One Vegetates And Always Will.

Literature Is A Defense Against The Attacks Of Life. It Says To Life: You Can't Deceive Me. I Know Your Habits, Foresee And Enjoy Watching All Your Reactions, And Steal Your Secret By Involving You In Cunning Obstructions That Halt Your Normal Flow.