Our Works, Whatever They May Be, Derive

There Was A Time When Time Did Not Yet Exist. … The Rejection Of Birth Is Nothing But The Nostalgia For This Time Before Time.

Transmitting One's Flaws [through Procreation] To Someone Else Is A Crime. I Could Never Consent To Give Life To Someone Who Would Inherent My Ailments.

Since All Life Is Futility, Then The Decision To Exist Must Be The Most Irrational Of All.

What Music Appeals To In Us It Is Difficult To Know; What We Do Know Is That Music Reaches A Zone So Deep That Madness Itself Cannot Penetrate There.

At This Very Moment, I Am Suffering—as We Say In French, J’ai Mal. This Event, Crucial For Me, Is Nonexistent, Even Inconceivable For Anyone Else, For Everyone Else. Except For God, If That Word Can Have A Meaning.