Human Affairs Are Not Serious, But They

Art Is The Final Cunning Of The Human Soul Which Would Rather Do Anything Than Face The Gods.

What Makes You Imagine ... That Anything Of Importance Can Be Taught In A School?

How Different Each Death Is, And Yet It Leads Us Into The Self-same Country, That Country Which We Inhabit So Rarely, Where We See The Worthlessness Of What We Have Long Pursued And Will So Soon Return To Pursuing.

Starting A Novel Is Opening A Door On A Misty Landscape; You Can Still See Very Little But You Can Smell The Earth And Feel The Wind Blowing.

Upon The Demon-ridden Pilgrimage Of Human Life, What Next I Wonder.