To Eat, To Speak, To Sing (need

We Know That The War Against Intelligence Is Always Waged In The Name Of Common Sense.

The Lover's Fatal Identity Is Precisely This: I Am The One Who Waits.

Isn’t The Most Sensitive Point Of This Mourning The Fact That I Must Lose A Language — The Amorous Language? No More ‘i Love You’s.

Myth Is Neither A Lie Nor A Confession: It Is An Inflexion.

I Am Simultaneously And Contradictorily Both Happy And Unhappy: 'to Succeed' Or 'to Fail' Have For Me Only Ephemeral, Contingent Meanings (this Does Not Stop My Desires And Sorrows From Being Violent Ones); What Impels Me, Secretly And Obstinately, Is Not Tactical: I Accept And I Affirm, Irrespective Of The True And The False, Of Success And Failure; I Am Withdrawn From All Finality, I Live According To Chance.