The Man, The Writer, The Instrument Of

Whatever Is A Reality Today, Whatever You Touch And Believe In And That Seems Real For You Today, Is Going To Be - Like The Reality Of Yesterday - An Illusion Tomorrow.

I Would Love To Spend All My Time Writing To You; I'd Love To Share With You All That Goes Through My Mind, All That Weighs On My Heart, All That Gives Air To My Soul; Phantoms Of Art, Dreams That Would Be So Beautiful If They Could Come True.

Woe To Him Who Doesn't Know How To Wear His Mask, Be He King Or Pope!

Inevitably We Construct Ourselves. Let Me Explain. I Enter This House And Immediately I Become What I Have To Become, What I Can Become: I Construct Myself. That Is, I Present Myself To You In A Form Suitable To The Relationship I Wish To Achieve With You. And, Of Course, You Do The Same With Me.

There Is Someone Who Is Living My Life. And I Know Nothing About Him.