God Is The God Of The People

You Are Perfectly Entitled To Invent Your Life And To Claim That It's True.

Of Them All, It Was The True Love. Of Them All, It Was The Best. That Other Sumptuous Love Which Made One Drunk, Which One Longed For, Envied, Believed In, That Was Not Life. It Was What Life Was Seeking; It Was A Suspension Of Life. But To Be Close To A Child, For Whom One Spent Everything, Whose Life Was Protected And Nourished By One's Own, To Have That Child Beside One, At Peace, Was The Real, The Deepest, The Only Joy.

I Don't Hold Myself Dictated To By What Everyone Is Saying, By The Tabloids Or Popular Opinion. I Don't Like Bourgeois Values. I Say You Find Your Own Way To Live.

Love Must Wait; It Must Break One’s Bones.

Solitude. One Knows Instinctively It Has Benefits That Must Be More Deeply Satisfying Than Those Of Other Conditions, But Still It Is Difficult.