The Kind Of Power Mothers Have Is

Drosselmeier Had Unwittingly Exposed Himself To An Overdose Of Reality, And It Had Destroyed His Reason.

The End Of Exile Is The End Of Being.

Losing Their Names, These Things Underwent A Process Of Uncreation.

I Will Tell You What Jeanne Was Like. She Was Like A Piano In A Country Where Everyone Has Had Their Hands Cut Off.

Do Not Think I Do Not Realise What I Am Doing. I Am Making A Composition Using The Following Elements: The Winter Beach; The Winter Moon; The Ocean; The Women; The Pine Trees; The Riders; The Driftwood; The Shells; The Shapes Of Darkness And The Shapes Of Water; And The Refuse. These Are All Inimical To My Loneliness Because Of Their Indifference To It. Out Of These Pieces Of Inimical Indifference, I Intend To Represent The Desolate Smile Of Winter Which, As You Must Have Gathered, Is The Smile I Wear.