Without Work All Life Goes Rotten.

And Often He Who Has Chosen The Fate Of The Artist Because He Felt Himself To Be Different Soon Realizes That He Can Maintain Neither His Art Nor His Difference Unless He Admits That He Is Like The Others. The Artist Forges Himself To The Others, Midway Between The Beauty He Cannot Do Without And The Community He Cannot Tear Himself Away From.

That Must Be Wonderful; I Have No Idea Of What It Means.

Believe Me, The Hardest Thing For A Man To Give Up Is That Which He Really Doesn't Want, After All.

The Absurd Hero's Refusal To Hope Becomes His Singular Ability To Live In The Present With Passion.

A Sub-clerk In The Post-office Is The Equal Of A Conqueror If Consciousness Is Common To Them.