A Symphony Must Be Like The World.

The Call Of Love Sounds Very Hollow Among These Immobile Rocks.

Behind Me The Branches Of A Wasted And Sterile Existence Are Cracking.

I Live Like A Hottentot. I Cannot Exchange One Sensible Word With Anyone.

I Beg Of You... Never Assume An Inner Or An Outer Pose, Never A Disguise.

All That Is Not Perfect Down To The Smallest Detail Is Doomed To Perish.