I Work Only With Lost And Founds.

Who Has Not Asked Himself At Some Time Or Other: Am I A Monster Or Is This What It Means To Be A Person?

Reality Prior To My Language Exists As An Unthinkable Thought. . . . Life Precedes Love, Bodily Matter Precedes The Body, And One Day In Its Turn Language Shall Have Preceded Possession Of Silence.

The Mystery Of Human Destiny Is That We Are Fated, But That We Have The Freedom To Fulfill Or Not Fulfill Our Fate: Realization Of Our Fated Destiny Depends On Us. While Inhuman Beings Like The Cockroach Realize The Entire Cycle Without Going Astray Because They Make No Choices.

I Ask Myself: Is Every Story That Has Ever Been Written In This World, A Story Of Suffering And Affliction?

For Only When I Err Do I Get Away From What I Know And What I Understand. If "truth" Were What I Can Understand, It Would End Up Being But A Small Truth, My-sized. Truth Must Reside Precisely In What I Shall Never Understand.