In The East Men Know Panic, But

Whatever One Wishes To Say, There Is One Noun Only By Which To Express It, One Verb Only To Give It Life, One Adjective Only Which Will Describe It. One Must Search Until One Has Discovered Them, This Noun, This Verb, This Adjective, And Never Rest Content With Approximations, Never Resort To Trickery, However Happy, Or To Vulgarism, In Order To Dodge The Difficulty.

Those Men, Those Of Former Times, Had Soul And Eyes That In No Way Resemble Ours, And In Their Veins, Along With Their Blood, Flowed Something That Has Disappeared: Love And Admiration For The Beautiful.

Travel, Like Dreams, Is A Door That Opens From The Real World Into A World That Is Yet To Be Discovered

I Go To Bed, And I Wait For Sleep As A Man Might Wait For The Executioner. I Wait For Its Coming With Dread, And My Heart Beats And My Legs Tremble, While My Whole Body Shivers Beneath The Warmth Of The Bedclothes, Until The Moment When I Suddenly Fall Asleep, As A Man Throws Himself Into A Pool Of Stagnant Water In Order To Drown. I Do Not Feel This Perfidious Sleep Coming Over Me As I Used To, But A Sleep Which Is Close To Me And Watching Me, Which Is Going To Seize Me By The Head, To Close My Eyes And Annihilate Me.

You'll Find That My Coquetry Is Quite Impartial, Which Allows Me To Keep My Friends.