The Richness Of Life Lies In Memories

The World, The Future, Is Now Within You As Your Past, As Experience, Skill In Technique, And The Rich, Everlasting Mystery Is Found To Be Childish You That, At The Time, You Made No Effort To Possess.

In Fact A Man In Love Or One Consumed With Hatred Creates Symbols For Himself, As A Superstitious Man Does, From A Passion Of Conferring Uniqueness On Things Or Persons. A Man Who Knows Nothing Of Symbols Is One Of Dante's Sluggards. This Is Why Art Mirrors Itself In Primitive Rites Or Strong Passions, Seeking For Symbols, Revolving Round The Primitive Taste For Savagery, For What Is Irrational (blood And Sex).

Maybe It's Better Like This, Better That Everything Should Go Up In A Blaze Of Dry Grass And That People Should Begin Again.

Woman Gives Herself As A Prize To The Weak And As A Prop To The Strong And No Man Ever Has What He Should.

The Cadence Of Suffering Has Begun. Every Evening At Dusk, My Heart Constricts Until Night Has Come.