Every Spoken Word Double-crosses Us. The Written

In Order To Understand, I Destroyed Myself.

My Joy Is As Painful As My Pain.

I've Never Done Anything But Dream. This, And This Alone, Has Been The Meaning Of My Life. My Only Real Concern Has Been My Inner Life.

To Live Strikes Me As A Metaphysical Mistake Of Matter, A Dereliction Of Inaction.

If After I Die, People Want To Write My Biography, There Is Nothing Simpler. They Only Need Two Dates: The Date Of My Birth And The Date Of My Death. Between One And Another, Every Day Is Mine.