We Make Our Own Hell Out Of

I Have No Need For Good Souls: An Accomplice Is What I Wanted.

Remember, Orestes: You Were Part Of My Herd, You Grazed In The Fields Along With My Sheep. Your Liberty Is Nothing But A Mange Eating Away At You, It Is Nothing But An Exile.

In Any Case, If You Ever Leave Me With A Handsome Man, Do Not Tell Me That You Trust Me Because, Let Me Warn You: That Is Not What Will Prevent Me From Deceiving You, If I Want To. On The Contrary.

Originally, Poetry Creates The Myth, While The Prose-writer Draws Its Portrait.

Once Liberty Has Exploded In The Soul Of A Man, The Gods Can Do Nothing Against That Man.