Where You Have Nothing, There You Should

I Write About Myself With The Same Pencil And In The Same Exercise Book As About Him. It Is No Longer I, But Another Whose Life Is Just Beginning.

The Reality Of The Individualis An Incoherent Reality And Must Be Expressed Incoherently.

Enough Of Acting The Infant Who Has Been Told So Often How He Was Found Under A Cabbage That In The End He Remembers The Exact Spot In The Garden And The Kind Of Life He Led There Before Joining The Family Circle.

If You Do Not Love Me I Shall Not Be Loved If I Do Not Love You I Shall Not Love.

Every Word Is Like An Unnecessary Stain On Silence And Nothingness.