...he Was Just Scraps Of Words And

A Criminal Is Undoubtedly A Poor Soul, Who Is Punished For His Poverty.

On The Other Hand, Whatever Condition We Are In, We Must Always Do What We Want To Do ,and If We Want To Go On A Journey, Then We Must Do So And Not Worry About Our Condition, Even If It's The Worst Possible Condition, Because, If It Is, We're Finished Anyway, Whether We Go On The Journey Or Not, And It's Better To Die Having Made The Journey We've Been Longing For Than To Be Stifled By Our Longing.

Toda Idea, Al Fin Y Al Cabo, Es Una Idea Demencial.

I Really Only Write About Inner Landscapes And Most People Don't See Them, Because They See Practically Nothing Within, Because They Think That Because It's Inside, It's Dark, And So They Don't See Anything. I Don't Think I've Ever Yet, In Any Of My Books, Described A Landscape. There's Really Nothing Of The Kind In Any Of Them. I Only Ever Write Concepts. And So I'm Always Referring To "mountains" Or "a City" Or "streets." But As To How They Look: I've Never Produced A Description Of A Landscape. That's Never Even Interested Me.

Everything Is What It Is, That's All. If We Keep Attaching Meanings And Mysteries To Everything We Perceive, Everything We See That Is, And To Everything That Goes On Inside Us, We Are Bound To Go Crazy Sooner Or Later, I Thought.