. . . Be Absolute Moderne.

I Could Never Throw Love Out Of The Window.

Is It In These Bottomless Nights That You Sleep In Exile?

It Is Wrong To Say: I Think. One Ought To Say: I Am Thought. I Is Someone Else.

My Wisdom Is As Spurned As Chaos. What Is My Nothingness, Compared To The Amazement That Awaits You?

But, Truly, I Have Wept Too Much! The Dawns Are Heartbreaking. Every Moon Is Atrocious And Every Sun Bitter.