A Corpse Is What's Left After Waking

There Is Only One Pleasure-that Of Being Alive. All The Rest Is Misery.

The Cadence Of Suffering Has Begun. Every Evening At Dusk, My Heart Constricts Until Night Has Come.

The Face Of The Night Will Be An Old Wound That Reopens Each Evening, Impassive And Living. The Distant Silence Will Ache Like A Soul, Mute, In The Dark. We'll Speak To The Night As It's Whispering Softly.

Childhood Is Not Only The Childhood We Really Had But Also The Impressions We Formed Of It In Our Adolescence And Maturity. That Is Why Childhood Seems So Long. Probably Every Period Of Life Is Multiplied By Our Reflections Upon The Next.

We Commit Two Wrongs When We Fail To Right A Wrong.