Sovereignty, Loyalty, And Solitude.

But A Sort Of Rupture-in Anguish-leaves Us At The Limit Of Tears: In Such A Case We Lose Ourselves, We Forget Ourselves And Communicate With An Elusive Beyond.

It Is Clear That The World Is Purely Parodic, That Each Thing Seen Is The Parody Of Another, Or Is The Same Thing In A Deceptive Form.

The Anguish Of The Neurotic Individual Is The Same As That Of The Saint. The Neurotic, The Saint Are Engaged In The Same Battle. Their Blood Flows From Similar Wounds. But The First One Gasps And The Other One Gives.

The Owl Flies, In The Moonlight, Over A Field Where The Wounded Cry Out. Like The Owl, I Fly In The Night Over My Own Misfortune.

We Have In Fact Only Two Certainties In This World - That We Are Not Everything And That We Will Die.