The Glass I Drink From Is Not

I Could Not Clearly Distinguish What Was Passing In My Head; It Seemed To Me That I Was Under The Influence Of A Horrible Dream And That I Had But To Awake To Find Myself Cured; At Times It Seemed That My Entire Life Had Been A Dream, Ridiculous And Childish, The Falseness Of Which Had Just Been Disclosed.

The Blood Of My Motherland Waters A Magic Plant That Cures All Ills. That Plant Is Art, And Sometimes Art Needs Corruption As A Kind Of Fertilizer

Look At The Sun! It’s Dry, It’s Dead, It Needs A Drink, It Wants Blood! And I’ll Give It Blood!

The Apartments Of The Rich Are Cabinets Of Curiosities: A Conglomeration Of Classical Antiquity, Gothic, Renaissance; Louis Xiii... Something From Every Century But Our Own, A Predicament That Has Arisen In No Other Period... So That We Seem To Be Subsisting On The Ruins Of The Past, As If The End Of The World Were Near.

There Is No Worse Sorrow Than Remembering Happiness In The Day Of Sorrow.