We Define Only Out Of Despair, We

If A Man Has Not, By The Time He Is Thirty, Yielded To The Fascination Of Every Form Of Extremism—i Don't Know Whether He Is To Be Admired Or Scorned, Regarded As A Saint Or A Corpse.

To Foreswear Vengeance Is To Chain Oneself To Forgiveness, To Flounder In Pardon, To Be Tainted By The Hatred Smothered Within.

On Creating — What We Crave, What We Want To See In Others Eyes, Is That Servile Expression, An Unconcealed Infatuation With Our Gestures.

My Enthusiasms...constitute My Reserves, My Unexploited Resources, Perhaps My Future.

All Philosophers Should End Their Days At Pythia's Feet. There Is Only One Philosophy, That Of Unique Moments.