I Loved You. I Was A Pentapod

Dostoevky's Lack Of Taste, His Monotonous Dealings With Persons Suffering With Pre-freudian Complexes, The Way He Has Of Wallowing In The Tragic Misadventures Of Human Dignity - All This Is Difficult To Admire.

I Confess, I Do Not Believe In Time.

We Think Not In Words But In Shadows Of Words.

I Know More Than I Can Express In Words, And The Little I Can Express Would Not Have Been Expressed, Had I Not Known More.

There Are Aphorisms That, Like Airplanes, Stay Up Only While They Are In Motion.