In Fact, Other People Create For Lack

God Put Self-pity By The Side Of Despair Like The Cure By The Side Of The Disease.

The Act Of Love Is A Confession.

In The Past, The Poverty They Shared Had A Certain Sweetness About It. When The End Of The Day Came And They Would Eat Their Dinner In Silence With The Oil Lamp Between Them, There Was A Secret Joy In Such Simplicity, Such Retrenchment.

Crime Too Is A Form Of Solitude, Even If One Thousand Get Together To Commit It. And It Is Right For Me To Die Alone, After Having Lived And Killed Alone.

The Absurd Is Sin Without God.