I Wasn’t Meant For Reality, But Life

Solitude Desolates Me; Company Oppresses Me.

Writing Is Like Paying Myself A Formal Visit.

I'd Like To Be In The Country So That I'd Could Like Being In The City.

We All Have Two Lives: The True, The One We Dreamed Of In Childhood And Go On Dreaming Of As Adults In A Substratum Of Mist; The False, The One We Love When We Live With Others, The Practical, The Useful, The One We End Up By Being Put In A Coffin.

On The Road Halfway Between Faith And Criticism Stands The Inn Of Reason. Reason Is Faith In What Can Be Understood Without Faith, But It's Still A Faith, Since To Understand Presupposes That There's Something Understandable.