Ah! How I Hate The Crimes Of

The Plight Of Modern Man Is That He Is Condemmed To Be Free.

If Literature Isn't Everything, It's Not Worth A Single Hour Of Someone's Trouble.

Generally Speaking There Is No Irreducible Taste Or Inclination. They All Represent A Certain Appropriative Choice Of Being. It Is Up To Existential Psychoanalysis To Compare And Classify Them. Ontology Abandons Us Here; It Has Merely Enabled Us To Determine The Ultimate Ends Of Human Reality, Its Fundamental Possibilities, And The Value Which Haunts It.

I Suppose It Is Out Of Laziness That The World Is The Same Day After Day. Today It Seemed To Want To Change. And Then Anything, Anything Could Happen.

Is There Really Nothing, Nothing Left Of Me?