I Like To Make Use Of What

Writing Is A Sweet, Wonderful Reward.

In A Certain Sense The Good Is Comfortless.

Writing Is Utter Solitude, The Descent Into The Cold Abyss Of Oneself.

Don't Despair, Not Even Over The Fact That You Don't Despair.

Atlas Was Permitted The Opinion That He Was At Liberty, If He Wished, To Drop The Earth And Creep Away; But This Opinion Was All That He Was Permitted.